07 February 2010

On Death

7 comments
Today let me believe, I am better off than you are,
My world is better than yours,
My friends are better than yours.
I can hide myself in the embrace of my darkness,
I can wear him on my eyes,
You my friend, cannot even stare into your lights.
I traded your music for my silence,
She lulls me to an eternity of sleeplessness,
You chatter yourself to sleep and fear nightmares.
You have your keepsakes framed and displayed for the world,
I have my scars, so dear to me, I don't need to flaunt.
Today let me believe I was saved from living your life,
As you leave me flowers, and sigh, that I never had any,
As you mourn my death and walk away.


Sorry for the spooky title and spooky poem :D

05 February 2010

To Melancholy

7 comments
Some tell me to bury you deep,
Some tell me to drown you in sleep,
Some tell me to give you away,
They always go back in dismay.

They ask me perplexed, "Why,
But why do you keep it nigh,
When it leaves you bleeding and sore?
Like the day, that the night, does devour."

I say nothing but stare, with empty eyes,
Where the rivulets of dreams now run dry,
And I fear, that if you shall depart,
With you, shall leave forever,
The vestige of my soul, my art.

I was thinking about this poem on the bus on my way back from lab. Came home and saw that my new camera has arrived. And boom! all melancholy out of the window. Was barely able to salvage the poem :D

03 February 2010

[Meme]: Untitled

7 comments
My blogger friend, Himanshu Koshe tagged me to this extremely interesting meme, in which you are supposed to write an untitled abstract poem.
Before I write the poem, maybe I could use this opportunity to talk a little about poetry and what it means to me. I don't even know if I should call myself a poet, as I hardly read poetry myself. I would assume that a painter does not just paint, but also finds pleasure in appreciating other painters, and likewise in other forms of art. In that case I will call myself a dabbler in poetry and hence humbly acknowledge that I am no master on the subject. That said I do take great pleasure in reading the works of other poets and/or dabblers like me on the blogosphere.

In the words of Robert Frost, "A poem is never a thought to begin with. It is at its best when it is a tantalizing vagueness. It finds its thought and succeeds or it doesn't find it and comes to nothing". Hence abstraction, is at the heart of poetry. My own belief about poetry is that, poetry is not written, all poems exist in the cosmos, they just need to be discovered. It might sound a little romantic and far fetched. But I am sure a few people would agree with me. That of course does not mean that poetry comes as a divination and you have no voluntary contribution to writing a poem. A poetry as Frost said tries to find the thought in a "tantalizing vagueness". And language is just a trickster's tool to find that thought, which has to be used skillfully.

As far as titles are concerned, I often find it extremely difficult to title my poems, so the titles end up being rather bizarre, I stick to using a single word as a title in most cases. I recently started reading Emily Dickinson, courtesy Cosma, and found that most of her poems were untitled. My own thoughts about titles are that, it is as much an art as writing poetry itself, unfortunately an art I don't consider myself possessing.
So I guess this meme is perfect for me, and also for other aspiring/amateur/accomplished poets.

I wonder what would be my abstract poetry ? Will it be a vagueness that does not find a thought ? Let's see :)

Trees on the side walk,
Electric posts,
Traffic signals,
Christmas lights past their time,
Aligned.
Do you think they will laugh,
At the jaggedness of my rhyme ?

Clock ticking,
Water flowing,
Clouds floating,
Cars snaking down the road,
Moving.
Motion gives a false sense of rhythm,
It can fool the heart that it's beating.

An echo from the other side,
Is what I need, to not slip away,
Gravity is not enough to be rooted.
An echo,
A voice not mine, I can call my own,
A vice not mine, I cannot disown,
A specter of myself, but alive.
You keep saying it's hard to die.
I would say, it's harder to stay dead.
Wait a little longer before you go,
But only if you have the time,
Burnish,
The jaggedness of my rhyme.


It's quite predictable, who I will tag. It will be blasphemous to not tag Senor Ramirez, not just because we are blogging partners, but also because he is a veritable master of abstraction :).
I would also want to tag Agila. (Don't give me any bu****** excuses), and Meenu.
And rest, please feel free to take this up and spread the meme.

01 February 2010

LED man

6 comments
Where do you go, in such a hurry,
O little white LED man,
If I stop long enough this side,
You'll extend your red LED hand,
And then we'll high five and strike a bond,
And we can be best of friends,
And I can tell you stories such,
That no one else comprehends.

O white LED man, there are,
O there are, so many, just like you,
They come in a hurry, they walk right by
They often even do a big high five,
They stop briefly as their clocks tick away,
And then they are gone with the blink of an eye.

I must walk too, white LED man,
Before the clock ticks, and time runs out,
It's a busy street, you bet it is,
And I must certainly be out and about. 

We'll meet again, at the next block,
And high five with your red LED hand,
So long, lets keep walking our way,
O little white LED man.

31 January 2010

Conjoined Twins

8 comments
Found this poem, I had written when I was interning in Delhi, in the summer of 2005, the first time I ever lived in a big city. These were my impressions 


Too fast it moves,
Past waiting trees, past sleeping dust,
Past electric posts, aging with rust,
Past billboards, past green traffic lights,
Too fast it moves, past days and nights.
No stopping to breathe, to see, to feel,
No stopping to rest, to touch, to heal, 
No stopping to dream, to fathom, to hear, 
No stopping to shed a pointless tear.

What if one day,
Like the drops of wax from the candle, say,
That rush down in a hurry, but stop midway,
Congealed in time, the city stops
Like mannequins staring from lighted shops?

Or is it all too great, too fast,
That the inertia forces it out of its cast,
And nothing can arrest the mad motion,
Brutally demanding a sacrilegious devotion,
The hungry infant cries at the pavement,
The woman fumes at the lecher's depravement,
The old man like an animal draws,
Life in a cart, into death's very jaws,
Nothing stops the bleeding of the scars,
Unseen by wealth-tinted windows of cars,
The city lies helpless, like Siamese twins,
Painfully conjoined, with a shared skin. 

27 January 2010

Behind the glass

8 comments
Last night it rained
I heard the spatter on my window pane,
I woke up late, after the sun,
When its seven colored, rainbow was gone,

Behind the glass...

Behind the glass I lure a dream,
Wandering away on a sun beam.

Papers, pens, paraphernalia,
Piled on my desk...a silly memorabilia,
I stare hard at the computer screen,
Wondering how long has it been
Since last night's rain,
Behind the glass...

Behind the glass, the sky is bleak,
A jet plane leaves a cloudy streak.

The music fills in for the sun,
The sky wears a robe, a purple one,
It must be cold, I presume,
I wait for the love song to resume.
Still behind the glass...

Behind the glass, I wish a charm,
May it rain tonight again,
On my thirsty open palm...

On the other side of the glass.

25 January 2010

Bad Poetry about Me

5 comments
I can wear an attitude, I can wear a grace,
I can spell DUMB and stamp it across my face,
I can be a Mac Book Pro, I can be a PC,
I can be a Linux too, but I don't really find it easy,  (Ok I am not a geek :P)
I can be the party-pooper, I can be it's soul,
I can bring things to stop, I can make them roll,
I can sing the saddest songs, and make the worst jokes,
Either way, people cry, at my masterstrokes,
I can be the outspoken one, I can be so shy,
I can go red in the face, at the sight of a handsome guy, (or girl ?)
I can be the lazy bone, I can be the sprinter,
I can be a pacifier, I can be the splinter,
I can talk to reveal myself, I can talk to fake,
I can talk, like I am now, just for narcissism's sake.
I can go on an on, about all that I can be,
Or I can stop right now and ask , really
No, I mean.. REALLY,
Which one of these is ME ?

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