tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14007932829703192802024-03-14T16:55:25.064+05:30And Lo! Behold!....Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.comBlogger192125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-60890483237558914022016-11-18T22:04:00.002+05:302016-11-18T22:04:23.044+05:30Poetry <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Think of me as a lover<br />
Who makes you weep.<br />
<br />
Who takes your hand<br />
And gives you breath.<br />
<br />
Think of me as the tormentor<br />
You long for on cold nights<br />
Turning colder.<br />
<br />
As the figure who says adieu<br />
And wants letters and warms kisses too<br />
<br />
I am your dream<br />
Your disappointment<br />
Your anguish<br />
<br />
Your confession<br />
Your noise<br />
Your bereavement<br />
<br />
The stranger you couldn't meet<br />
The Narcissus you always seek<br />
<br />
The Narcissist you always were<br />
The lover you couldn't be.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-10338286571754160032016-06-08T23:14:00.002+05:302016-06-08T23:14:40.658+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Writer's Block<br />
Must be like a constipated soul<br />
Or is it more serious?<br />
The analogy of a blocked valve?<br />
The desire to stop your heart<br />
And fix it<br />
Or perhaps just have its services<br />
'Temporarily Suspended'?<br />
The desire to vent a stir in the<br />
Soul's deepest chambers<br />
And not having enough<br />
Tears?<br />
No music No memories<br />
No sighs No motions<br />
No dance No rays<br />
No moon<br />
Anywhere<br />
<br />
No voice<br />
At all<br />
But simply a dry howl<br />
That ends too soon<br />
While wailing<br />
On empty nights<br />
<br />
What do you<br />
Where do you go<br />
How do you burst again<br />
Upon the world?<br />
<br />
No doctor<br />
No lover<br />
No mother<br />
Knows<br />
<br />
Only you<br />
Who knew yourself too well,<br />
Loved yourself too often,<br />
Wrote yourself too much.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-12167155465424887132016-03-19T22:05:00.001+05:302016-03-19T22:05:02.582+05:30Forgetting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The fear of many things<br />
Of having forgotten alphabets<br />
And names of dear ones<br />
<br />
Treading back<br />
Home<br />
Towards its<br />
Unnameable smell<br />
And then, forgetting home<br />
<br />
Forgetting to love<br />
And kiss<br />
To cry and pacify<br />
<br />
Forgetting your<br />
Smile and good deeds<br />
<br />
Turning you into<br />
Memory<br />
<br />
And then,<br />
<br />
Remembering.<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-28686341128689753852015-08-17T16:53:00.002+05:302015-08-17T16:55:57.353+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The perfect poem seeps into your skin<br />
Leaving that right mixture of salt love sun criticism<br />
Like mother who strokes your hair<br />
Just that way.<br />
You know its strange touch<br />
It's descent<br />
It's nonsense and sense<br />
Both poignant<br />
Like a lover you cannot change<br />
<br />
Profound.<br />
Impressive<br />
Well made.<br />
Carelessly<br />
Carefully<br />
Unknowingly.<br />
<br />
That kind of teasing rhetoric<br />
That kind of after taste<br />
Like renewed friendships<br />
Like love after multiple deaths.<br />
<br />
Great poetry,<br />
True poetry?<br />
Some poetry?<br />
<br />
You know it?<br />
Like afterlife? Like soul?<br />
Like victory?<br />
<br />
That perfect poem of losing yourself<br />
And finding it on a yellow page<br />
Another day.<br />
Ending awkwardly.<br />
<br />
Like life. Like death.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-57804269950709488952015-06-15T20:35:00.003+05:302015-06-15T20:35:27.474+05:30Monsoons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its the season of moody rainshowers that are here<div>
To lash out at your long-dried jaundiced conscience</div>
<div>
Season of peeling off of love</div>
<div>
Of births of insects, grass, and babies</div>
<div>
Of new madness, new skin,</div>
<div>
New frailties, new lust, new deeds</div>
<div>
Till your new lover, or is he old</div>
<div>
Peels off your dreams from</div>
<div>
Eyes now too moist </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Drunk on the moody rains.</div>
</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-88682690790171268872014-11-23T20:42:00.000+05:302019-03-31T11:45:56.573+05:30In Passing....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When you stood at the door<br />
Ceremoniously<br />
Countering winds,<br />
The Train had begun its race.<br />
<br />
You stood<br />
And it took you away<br />
From it all.<br />
You stood there<br />
For long.<br />
<br />
It wasn't raining on you<br />
But elsewhere, a place<br />
Far away, A place<br />
You could only smell.<br />
<br />
And Mangoes too<br />
On giant trees<br />
Belonged to anonymous<br />
Backyards<br />
Of an anonymous clan.<br />
<br />
Children giggled at you,<br />
At your sun-glasses<br />
Habitually<br />
Paying reverence<br />
To the passing Train.<br />
<br />
You wondered what<br />
They had eaten<br />
At home,<br />
Those awkward bellies<br />
And a gleaming face.<br />
<br />
And the driver at the engine too<br />
<br />
Where was his home?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-40576663259293213092013-12-22T10:54:00.003+05:302013-12-22T10:54:54.665+05:30Blessed.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At the signals<br />
The crow-eyed woman<br />
Visits me:<br />
Beti, God will do you good.<br />
<br />
Clink. The transaction is made.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-78811476109776027542013-12-22T10:46:00.001+05:302013-12-22T14:00:36.650+05:30Fading<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In small, newspaper boats<br />
My life travels to you<br />
<br />
My hands and yours<br />
Dragged on dirty tables<br />
The unsure edges seeking<br />
Shelter of your imaginary shores<br />
<br />
Meanwhile<br />
<br />
The newspaper<br />
Screams reality of the<br />
Day before.<br />
<br />
I do not need you.<br />
I do not.<br />
I drink the smell of your<br />
Skin often in my mind<br />
I seek out your dark soul<br />
And push Time.<br />
<br />
Your breath, your words,<br />
Those spurts of abrupt<br />
Laughter<br />
Nights and days and nights and days<br />
And this life and the next<br />
And all the gestures of love<br />
Bursting out of nowhere<br />
Stirring this faded Universe<br />
<br />
Mock love, mock pain<br />
<br />
The drama of little souls<br />
Travelling in little paper boats.<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-10549051891773548622013-05-09T22:53:00.001+05:302019-03-31T11:48:03.044+05:30Noises in the Head.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Silence is not<br />
My cup of tea.<br />
<br />
Inner Silence<br />
That must have<br />
Descended like<br />
Cumulonimbus<br />
Paratroopers<br />
On blessed folks.<br />
Promising nothing,<br />
Yielding nothing,<br />
Saying nothing.<br />
Blank,<br />
Deep,<br />
Blue.<br />
<br />
Silence,<br />
<br />
I do not go to you<br />
You never come to me.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-69709496673907445272013-05-09T22:47:00.002+05:302013-05-09T22:47:52.852+05:30Smug<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The intoxicated Fragment<br />
Giggling and<br />
Babbling<br />
With many<br />
Nascent brothers<br />
<br />
Irresponsible,<br />
Ruthless<br />
Unanswerable<br />
Drunk on the<br />
Belated,<br />
Never here,<br />
Never there<br />
Never for<br />
Tomorrows.<br />
<br />
Fragmented<br />
And smug.<br />
Beating with<br />
Anger, Pride,<br />
Broken, Unspoken<br />
A Fragment.<br />
<br />
He breathes still.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-40403341681433952482013-05-09T22:27:00.001+05:302013-05-09T22:27:26.496+05:30Like this.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If I dive inside<br />
My fish-bowl<br />
Where Pablo swims<br />
Towards the Atlantic<br />
How will Pablo feel?<br />
<br />
Pablo,<br />
If you ever dive out<br />
And write<br />
All my papers<br />
Especially, the one to the Journal<br />
of Commonwealth Studies<br />
I would feel happy.<br />
<br />
Oh, this is Absurd,<br />
This is clap-worthy.<br />
<br />
<br />
This is Life,<br />
This is Death<br />
This is Poetry.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-6772247887017178922013-04-13T19:58:00.002+05:302013-04-13T19:58:34.752+05:30Finitude<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
To those paasages that do not listen to me anymore<br />
And have become part of Your slave-empire<br />
That bends and breaks hearts<br />
Kills histories<br />
And silences folklore<br />
To those mysteries of land<br />
That humble Being<br />
Cut out posters of crammed ideologies<br />
Ideologies Idols Idolescence?<br />
To that daily Life<br />
That you tell me is a gift<br />
Wrapped in culture and anarchy<br />
Trashed with jargon and<br />
Stashed somewhere that is<br />
Actually never really out there<br />
To those many voices yelling from<br />
Heavy books laden with<br />
Promises that we can talk, we should talk<br />
We should write, we should fight<br />
Who is listening?<br />
Who is out there waiting for you tonight?<br />
To that comma that has been bidden adieu<br />
In hopes of finality of period.<br />
<br />
Periods of indefinite<br />
Quest, knowledge, discovery, discourse<br />
Intellect, Happiness, Unrest<br />
Oh happy happy hours<br />
That see all things happy die<br />
No longer at ease<br />
No longer my own<br />
No longer yours<br />
And now<br />
To die<br />
To die.</div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-63760529574292632062012-12-25T01:29:00.001+05:302012-12-25T01:29:25.145+05:30Curtained<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes, while am talking to you,<br />
Silence begins to hum<br />
In my ears like a bee lost,<br />
Like a radio-station gone cranky,<br />
Zero, it screeches<br />
For a long long while.<br />
<br />
I think I do not hear you.<br />
I see your lips in motion,<br />
I judge you<br />
Right there,<br />
The intensity of your liquid<br />
Thoughts<br />
Beating against difficult shores.<br />
<br />
I say it to you then,<br />
Like many befores<br />
And the numerous<br />
Afterwards,<br />
That come and go,<br />
Shuttling across promises<br />
Of autumnal today<br />
And monsoony tomorrows.<br />
<br />
The Eucalyptus is on fire.<br />
I smell its ruins<br />
Somewhere.<br />
At traffic signals<br />
They still carry bare news.<br />
<br />
Life is just that Silence<br />
Melting against the walls of the mind,<br />
Where unsaid words<br />
Breed raw menace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-72816386338977366792012-12-23T00:20:00.004+05:302012-12-23T00:20:45.906+05:30Winter II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She has been teaching<br />
Herself to ignore<br />
Her numb finger<br />
And the number<br />
Tip of the<br />
Predominant Nose<br />
That decides what<br />
Stays in life<br />
<br />
More importantly,<br />
What Goes.<br />
<br />
Sans these,<br />
Baby knew<br />
She could love Winter.<br />
Or, Winter too<br />
She would<br />
<br />
Shoo.<br />
<br />
Yes, baby shooo-es.<br />
<br />
Migraines. Real bad ones.<br />
Made of her<br />
Choicest nightmares<br />
Throbbed her temples.<br />
Puke.<br />
Baby wanted to puke.<br />
Or perhaps,<br />
Baby wanted babies<br />
<br />
I suppose.<br />
<br />
It was there<br />
In her<br />
Throat.<br />
What babies come out<br />
Of Baby's throat?<br />
<br />
<br />
Baby has seen babies<br />
Born on TV, lovers met,<br />
Cold fingertips, warm nose<br />
A round baby appeared<br />
Baby saw<br />
Baby choked.<br />
<br />
What throbs her temples<br />
Makes poor baby bloat?<br />
<br />
Ah, this lovely lovely Sun<br />
Perfect for killing lovers<br />
Real old ones<br />
That could be buried<br />
Under dry leaves<br />
Of lovelier Gulmohar trees.<br />
<br />
This Winter,<br />
She will kill those<br />
On her<br />
Fingertips,<br />
Kiss the Sun,<br />
Forgive the snow<br />
Kick the wind<br />
Piercing her nose.<br />
She shrieks! She chokes!<br />
A baby cries<br />
<br />
A baby woke!<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-19971761038196477302012-10-05T22:45:00.001+05:302012-10-10T14:28:18.649+05:30To A Friend Who Reads.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
No colour in your<br />
Soul<br />
Hides from me.<br />
<br />
The length of<br />
A night<br />
Blanched in<br />
Altercations<br />
Is longer<br />
Than all the days<br />
We have lived<br />
And known<br />
Together.<br />
<br />
And when words travel<br />
From your home<br />
After unsure rains,<br />
They form a<br />
Dawn brighter.<br />
<br />
Infinitely so.<br />
<br />
Pick up the pen,<br />
That hides behind<br />
Those heavy curtains,<br />
Rummage your pockets<br />
And<br />
Build your own<br />
Cob-webs.<br />
To breathe, cry,<br />
Pray like<br />
A poet,<br />
The coincidence<br />
Of living like<br />
A Maugham,<br />
A Rimbaud, A Baudelaire.<br />
<br />
To place Life on<br />
Your nerves<br />
And drink its<br />
Pulse<br />
Like a soul melting<br />
Into yours.<br />
To feel love<br />
In infinity of words<br />
In tomorrows.<br />
<br />
There is horizon<br />
Still,<br />
Stretched on your bed<br />
Where your heart<br />
Beats,<br />
In memory of all<br />
That went past<br />
Of all<br />
That wants to be.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-70515647107849937742012-10-03T21:37:00.001+05:302012-10-03T21:39:01.031+05:30Whimper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You were obsessed with mirrors.<br />
Clearly.<br />
And that yearning for finales<br />
And dainty combs.<br />
Laughter must arrive with cadence,<br />
Moments with inverted commas.<br />
Never letting your hair down<br />
To brush his<br />
Shriveled shoulders.<br />
<br />
Clearly, he had no soul.<br />
<br />
You never met a face<br />
That had a heart<br />
Attached somewhere,<br />
Not even in the heels<br />
That clicked around you.<br />
Now smell the dust.<br />
Clearly, they say,<br />
Literally, they clap.<br />
<br />
You sang, you proclaimed<br />
History was your making<br />
The Future too<br />
Packed on your table<br />
In quaint boxes<br />
Dumb, deceiving,<br />
<br />
Altogether wooden<br />
Not ours.<br />
<br />
And then<br />
On the last day<br />
That lay italicized and<br />
Bold on your plate,<br />
That writing,<br />
Your writing<br />
Peeled from ancient walls,<br />
Passed you by,<br />
<br />
Sigh,who shall tell you,<br />
Who will ever tell you?<br />
<br />
The bathos of the swan-song<br />
Had fallen on deaf ears,<br />
Mirrors, neat mirrors,<br />
No soul in them,<br />
<br />
That was the end<br />
Plain, pure,<br />
<br />
Not a whimper in the closet,<br />
Bold decay,<br />
Absolute un-fear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-46278588986320067942012-10-01T10:53:00.002+05:302012-10-01T11:12:11.742+05:30Our Universe.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I woke up today<br />
To set the universe in motion<br />
With my pen.<br />
The chain of my nascent<br />
Thoughts promised<br />
To light up<br />
Your world, my world<br />
My fish-bowl, your kitchen<br />
Their homes, galleries,<br />
Portraits and<br />
Some flower-pots.<br />
So I write.<br />
Just so<br />
That. This.<br />
And other thats<br />
And other this.<br />
Many this and many thats<br />
That might reach you,<br />
And touch<br />
Your cracked<br />
Halo.<br />
Wake up<br />
My word tells you<br />
And pass venom<br />
From hand to hand<br />
We shall drink<br />
The last of the last<br />
Suppers.<br />
And raise a toast<br />
To our fragile<br />
Nerves.<br />
I shall bake breads,<br />
You shall prick flesh<br />
And together<br />
At sun-rise<br />
The universe will<br />
Move, then die.<br />
My pen is<br />
Fire,<br />
Your heart<br />
Will melt<br />
Your heart at<br />
Our Last Supper.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-64578417497705645432012-09-29T23:07:00.001+05:302012-09-29T23:07:54.559+05:30Of Jokes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A sad lumpy frog<br />
Of the lazy well<br />
That drinks not<br />
Dies not.<br />
Not today<br />
Not yesterday<br />
Not tomorrow.<br />
Tomorrow leaves<br />
Will travel to me<br />
With news of<br />
Another world<br />
Hazy.<br />
My eyes<br />
With muddy sorrows<br />
Tell me<br />
Stories of<br />
Protests, Bombs,<br />
Economies, Armies.<br />
Come leaves to<br />
The well,<br />
may be<br />
I will shed<br />
Warm tears<br />
In cold waters<br />
Blow bubbles in<br />
Memory of you<br />
You ignorant<br />
Who glanced and went away.<br />
Away, away you went<br />
To the other world<br />
Of bombs,<br />
Armies, Million creatures<br />
Devouring,<br />
I sigh in the well,<br />
With your shadows<br />
Still mocking<br />
My grief,<br />
In muddy puddles heavier<br />
Than your<br />
Loudest Guns.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-30600058005527514402012-07-22T21:40:00.000+05:302012-07-22T21:48:26.162+05:30Blah.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white;">The Monsoon-night pricks</span><br />
With its false winds<br />
That whistle more loudly<br />
At nightfall.<br />
<br />
Yes I asked it to come<br />
With brittle rains.<br />
And I asked you.<br />
<br />
Steeped in a darker sigh.<br />
<br />
When all my "Selves"<br />
Sit together<br />
They make unbearable noises<br />
Before the mirror.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">So I blow out the candle</span><br />
I quit the night<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Come to me tomorrow.</span><br />
Tonight, I have waves to ride.<br />
<br />
Shredded poems,<br />
A stain upon the wall,<br />
A stubborn failure<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Sit together in my old closet.</span><br />
<br />
Then the old book<br />
Pickled,<br />
Opens like a familiar road<span style="background-color: white;">.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The Isle of Misery</span><br />
Is borne<span style="background-color: white;">.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The sovereign queen dressed in mockery,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Reigns over</span><br />
The hungry Selves.<br />
<br />
<br />
I blow out the candle.<br />
I quit the night.<br />
<br />
Come to me tomorrow,<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Tonight, I have shadows to fight.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-57746479697981304622012-06-24T23:51:00.002+05:302012-06-24T23:51:59.349+05:30Smog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Before Promises was Solitude<div>
After Promises came Death</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Minus Salvation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I felt the smog</div>
<div>
Descend my</div>
<div>
Being</div>
<div>
And remembered</div>
<div>
Old poems.</div>
<div>
Dickinson,</div>
<div>
Eliot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ordered for a Memory.</div>
<div>
And a shot of Cappuccino</div>
<div>
In that purple predictable</div>
<div>
Coffee Shop.</div>
<div>
Without You</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I add this.</div>
<div>
Yes, I add.</div>
<div>
Melancholy now do visit me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I ramble, I sing.</div>
<div>
Come memory.</div>
<div>
Do.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And this death of </div>
<div>
All recollections.</div>
<div>
This silence of old voices.</div>
<div>
Bleak.</div>
<div>
Like Death I tell you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After the Death.</div>
<div>
I waited.</div>
<div>
Brown, damp, unsure</div>
<div>
In an Old Book.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With a new Silence.</div>
<div>
I was born</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-41740572332269302962012-04-28T23:15:00.003+05:302012-04-28T23:15:57.524+05:30Decision-making<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Biting the dust all day,<br />
Weaving his breath<br />
Each way,<br />
The Spider wonders<br />
If it wishes to<br />
Crawl<br />
On feeble limbs<br />
Enmeshed..<br />
<br />
To unweave,<br />
Fold up those threads<br />
<br />
Come, let us have death.</div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-47069093330390995682012-04-08T23:39:00.000+05:302012-04-08T23:40:52.363+05:30Pose-Repose<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
The simplicity of all sorrows<br />
Belittles expression.<br />
<br />
I hang you in my closet<br />
Like a dress too grand<br />
For life's many afternoons<br />
For those boring, repeated<br />
Confessions.<br />
<br />
Listen to the flesh<br />
Thirsty for more<br />
And more<br />
Flesh,<br />
Till absurd music<br />
Kills you with love<br />
Robs you of death.<br />
<br />
Listen to these multiple swan songs,<br />
That break at the break of dawn.<br />
<br />
Life laughs aloud<br />
At the dreams<br />
Tucked in my head,<br />
And Philosophy sweats profusely,<br />
Hidden<br />
Under your bed.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-78325374344619806492012-03-19T22:35:00.000+05:302012-03-19T22:35:12.653+05:30April<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is a chance of mangoes ripening this April.<br />
A chance his heart might break into patterns<br />
Of gray cold bricks spread on a tram-track.<br />
Do not call them fissures.<br />
He does not like the word.<br />
<br />
He is allergic to pungent emotions<br />
Bad odours,<br />
Bad English.<br />
Bad girls he might like though<br />
This night, this April.<br />
<br />
There is a chance of the blood burning<br />
Like never before.<br />
Sick at the drabness of leaves<br />
Not whistling, not obeying<br />
This April.<br />
How must he live?<br />
With little flesh and no admiration?<br />
Like a melody turned sour in<br />
A cracked throat on a sad evening.<br />
<br />
All his chance<br />
All my hope,<br />
Boiling in dirty vessels<br />
All this fiery April.<br />
<br />
So take him to misty lanes<br />
Of dark affections, darker roles.<br />
Take me to damp museums<br />
Of shredded robes<br />
And feeble swords.<br />
<br /></div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-28708069011388761492012-02-26T23:49:00.001+05:302012-02-26T23:49:35.932+05:30Dissections...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Finally all my days have become the same.<div>
There are no more coincidences. Nothing is a surprise. This might be a sign of belated wisdom. I am hopeful. Or, overall boredom. I am cynical.</div>
<div>
I do not remember a time when I did not seek pros with cons. Even before I heard of their combined powers from elders, parents, friends, teachers, random soothsayers, aunts, cab-drivers, men, more men, pimple-struck teenagers. Everybody. Almost.</div>
<div>
Remember, I did not need sermons. I was born with enough noises in my head. And over years they have only multiplied and how! My 'how' is not an empty 'how'. The voices have multiplied overwhelmingly, so that now, I smile too much. Often dumbly. I smile at the parliament-like hullabaloo within my small head. I smile when people talk to me, and I do not follow much of their words.</div>
<div>
Crack a joke and I will judge your humor. Judge it against mine. I will bestow my laughter judiciously. In the interim, I shall smile.</div>
<div>
Pie-chart was my favorite idea of a graph. I often make it inside my head and come up with three sections- writing, movies, jabber. Often while hungry, my mental pie-chart takes on the form of a healthy pizza. An aloo-paratha, an enormous chocolate cake, and blah and blah depending on my appetite and craving.</div>
<div>
Do not throw words at me till they have enough weight. Especially when my ears are on fire. I might throw pretty heavy ones back leading to much injury and bandage.</div>
<div>
Finally, all my poems are identical. Till I sleep at the idea of reading them. Mundane and somber, like memoirs of things cliched and insignificant. Full of oranges, evenings, browns, embers, past, lost, you name it! You could!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dead-ends are lessons. They tell you that you cannot run anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400793282970319280.post-22169045389786035182012-02-11T20:14:00.000+05:302012-02-11T22:25:33.655+05:30Nothing Comes of Nothing.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I remember I wrote to you<br />
Everyday in the Autumn.<br />
I remember writing in Spring too<br />
In Summer, Sadness,<br />
Laughter, Languidness<br />
Through the brown, sadder Rains.<br />
I remember I wrote<br />
Every Season<br />
Everyday.<br />
<br />
Nothing can come of nothing<br />
King Lear roared in my ears<br />
In old voices<br />
In humid classrooms.<br />
I wrote to you<br />
Every way<br />
Lest I be Hamlet.<br />
Hamlet with the sweat on his brow,<br />
Sigh, the monsoony Calcutta evenings.<br />
<br />
I remember you had spoken,<br />
Lighting up the fleeting<br />
October purple<br />
The dazed city sky<br />
Hopeful of another dawn.<br />
I remember Plath<br />
And I remember Camus.<br />
The scent of arguments on those walks<br />
I remember your clear eyes.<br />
<br />
I wrote, I wrote madly.<br />
I spoke till our voices were tired<br />
And lives choked.<br />
I remember I wrote the end<br />
The year-ends and silver evenings<br />
Laden with failures,<br />
Burnt like never before.<br />
<br />
Nothing came of nothing.<br />
Parmenides had proved,<br />
Old Lear had told.<br />
I remember the emptiness of all diaries,<br />
The shrill cry of winter wind<br />
Moaning.<br />
I remember Ophelia drowning in those pages,<br />
I remember I kept writing,<br />
The sole writer of it all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Iridescent ...http://www.blogger.com/profile/00891569473509929744noreply@blogger.com0