Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Enough







Maybe it’s no longer about
watching coloured buntings flutter on
buildings, no more rushing out
and coming back to youthful haunts


speckled with scents of night jasmine,
fallen in the dark hours before dawn;
no more about where the trips begin
and where they end, which lines are drawn


and which left broken and blurred;
It’s enough that you are upon
this pebble-strewn path, anchored
by wind and earth and these watersongs.


Enough that it’s your hand just above
me, stretched out in silence and in love.



Back to being my usual mouse- and couch-  potato self and happy to be back :-) 






Wednesday, 19 August 2015

Write...Edit...Publish...August 2015 : Spectacular Settings





Happy to report that one of my favourite bloghops Write…Edit…Publish... is back again, hosted by Denise Covey and Yolanda Renee. Thank you, ladies, can't stop smiling! I am rather partial  – the prompts are thought-provoking, meaty, delightful, and stretch one's writing muscles in undreamt of ways. Oh, there are a million more reasons to love it :) This month’s comeback prompt is on Spectacular Settings, click the link to read the rules and join in. 

Sunday, 16 August 2015

Shells



The laughter’s gone from this heart.
the lamplight’s gone from this home;
the threshold, the corners are dark,
the ones who’d lit it up depart
for cities from where no letters come;
for cities that no one returns from.

The water’s as tall as the crops -
the river’s too full of herself,
ear by ear the grain starts to rot,
the young scatter in search of jobs,
the old watch unable to help;
the lamp stands unlit on its shelf.

The fathers can keep their eyes dry
and keep their words clipped and brief;
but they pause far too much, they sigh,
and their lips suddenly pull awry;
the mothers are too bowed to weep
gone to places even beyond grief.

The water stands as high as the rice
the harvest has stopped in its tracks;
the lamp flickers once before it dies -
the light lays its head on the thighs
of the dark and the young men pack
for cities, and they don’t come back.

We’re become the shell of a house.
We’re become the shell of a loving.
See how our garments fall loose.
See how our proud heads are bowed.
Once here the bulbul used to sing,
she’s now fallen quiet, there’s nothing.





Sunday, 9 August 2015

You knew, didn't you?




You know, it’s not the distance or time,
tides of water and wind that made you drift
apart, the river’s the same, the skyline
a little changed, the nightfall is as swift,


the newspaper man calls round like before
everything as it was, untouched.  You stepped
away, one step and two, a thousand more
and a hazy mist of gold and green swept


you up on eagle wings into its heights.
Startled you, didn’t it? when you gripped
it? did thin and hazy have the right
to feel that solid? didn’t fit the script.


Even back then you knew, it wasn’t the tide
or the distance; the change’s always inside.










I wanted to tell you (again!) about this multi-author anthology available now at Amazon and Flipcart and Sapna and Indistore.  In case you don't have the foggiest, it happened sometime ago - this is the result of the Get Published contest by Indiblogger and Harper Collins India.  Two story ideas were submitted by me through this very blog, and one of them - At the End of the Parade - made the final cut, and is now part of this book. Nine stories from nine vibrant young Indian writers and one from yours truly! :)

Sunday, 2 August 2015

Never mind the steps





You step through my life
more light of foot, yet sure,
when the fields are wide,
no latches to the doors.
Tracking prints is not
my thing, I never tried
to sift the sands, look for
exact trails and roads;
I know if I look hard,
the flattened undergrowth
will give me a sign, a mark
to show where you trod,
but I don’t need that now
because I know. I know.








On a borrowed net connection because I wanted to tell you about this multi-author anthology which is available now at Amazon and Flipcart and Sapna and Indistore.  In case you don't have the foggiest, it happened sometime ago - this is the result of the Get Published contest by Indiblogger and Harper Collins India.  Two story ideas were submitted by me on this very blog, and one of them - At the End of the Parade - made the final cut, and is now part of this book. Nine stories from nine vibrant young Indian writers and one from yours truly! :)






Sunday, 26 July 2015

Time-warp






It often seems a warp, that time exists
only to be bound up around your wrists
only to be measured by your pulse
the sole time-keeper, everything else’s false.


Did I love you yesterday, before I knew
that I was I?  and that you were you?
I only know I love you endlessly
today and tomorrow, all that’s to be.


I feel that now, but then I also know
a line divides now and all tomorrows;
we each leap over without being aware
and some things come; some don’t make it there.


What stands the test and comes through pure and true
who knows? But for now your wrists, veined in blue.






This one's a response to a comment-poem a reader left here couple Sundays ago.  A question in the final stanza that is quite mind blowing if one stops to think on it. Thank you desk49.

I am travelling and will be offline more often than I like.  Enjoy the poetry here and in the season/world wherever you are.  I will catch up with you as and when I can beg/borrow/get a net connection.  :) Stay well!










Sunday, 19 July 2015

Volta in your face






Well, I can’t do the volta to a turn -
it turns up by itself, twirls in at the start;
it won’t sit in its place, it will not learn
that timing is the pinnacle of this art.


It fidgets when I fit it for an octave
and it won’t agree to wait for the twelfth;
it will dance when it pleases, I must waive
all rules, it must decide things for itself.


I must be submissive, it must control
the style and metre of stanza and line.
It’s brash and pushy, grabs the writer’s role
thrusts me aside, writes out this life of mine.


Life can’t be a perfect sonnet for those
whose voltas come in at the start, or close.











I am travelling and will probably be offline more often than I like :)  Enjoy the poetry here and in the season/world wherever you are.  I will catch up with you as and when I can beg/borrow/get a net connection. Stay well!