Method In Madness

holiday chaos

lost in the hope of 

finding myself 

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Time To Cross Over

I remind myself again and again

This is the last leg of the journey 

Decide what you have to pack or unpack

Bitterness ? Sadness ? Emptyness ? Loneliness?

Or 

Those rare moments of clarity ? Untinted joy ? 

Unabashed realisations? 

Serendipitous revelations ? 

That life is/was worth living 

(Though not always 

Yet...)

Bounties abound 

The shelter of the sky

The fragrance of the untimely blooms

The lushness of the cluster of leaves

The chiffon breeze

The whispering branches of the trees

My breath mingling

With my dreams

They say there is a sacred space inbetween 

Where you grow abundantly 

Have I done that ?

There is still time

Still a chain of breath alive 

To pour out the poison within

Fill up the lungs with blessings

Cleanse the soul

Before  moving  on

To that white space of dreamy existence 

Let past be past 

And unbox what I have kept hidden

A very long time

Cherished rather

The darkness  imagined as light

Which propelled me to zones of grief

Starkness of thoughts 

Madness of impulses

The cursed gifts of life

Were they really ?

Or 

Did I presume them to be ?

Aha! It's not the hour to

Seek what I lost myself in

It's rather time to prepare

For the cross over destined

Lures across the threshold 

The only quest that lurks

Shouldn't I travel light ?

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Oh!! This Night...

Summer moon...

Lying on the cold sheets

Gazing at the stars

I would often fall asleep 

Forgetting you

O summer moon 

You still shone

At the window

And spread over

My threshold 

Your sequined smile

Autumnal wind...

Did you take away

My dear friend 

I had carried her back home

On chariots of chrome

She had winked at me

And promised to be mine

Forever 

Where does she hide now?

Beneath the caper of the clouds

Darkening deeper my nights

Oh! That frozen smile

I guess winter has arrived

You have lost your sheen a little 

Your shine sends chill down my spine

Your bleak visage soothe

My fluttering heart no longer

O ice maiden

Where are the nights warmer ?

Aah spring...

You bring back intoxicating dreams

Your breeze sprays fragrances

Of delight...your blooms are 

Ever so bright 

The days are sunny and cheerful 

The nights have that devilish charm

I know you are no longer mine

Yet I crave for your beatific smile

O spring moon 

You have always been my muse

And shall forever remain mine

Pic from Pinterest

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Waking Up

it's difficult 

to wake up from a dream

the sudden realisation that 

it was just a dream

is maddening

dreams are no more dreams

as often I watch over myself 

while dreaming 

it's disheartening 

it's not another world

where you are happy, sad

bickering, pathetic, miserable

it's here and now

so frustrating

what you thought was attainable

is perhaps a figment of your

imagination....no more reachable 

because it's not a dream any longer

it's here and now here and now 

don't scream out of anger

or disappointment 

it's your late realisation 

that you forgot to figure out

it's no more a dream

the world knew and therefore 

it never stopped moving away

taking a course different 

you stagnated because 

you thought it was just a dream

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My Neighbour

Sharp 12.00 PM

Afternoon 

She is there

Nosing around 

Poking, peeping,

Irritating ... 

Curious as ever 

"Too much of curiosity is not good"

Like water falling on stone

It has no effect on her

"What you reading?"

She asks, her eyes sharp, shrewd

Brows puckered in an ugly frown

"A book...a novel.."

"What about?"

"About a married girl being blackmailed about her past..."

She snorted...

"As usual, old story..."

"It's interesting ", I said

" Must be,"She smirked,

" Everybody is interested in other's business,"

I look at her pointedly 

She shrugs 

"Why don't they write about the futility of everything.... conquests and bloodbaths...

we are making history they say.....all rubbish "

"Yes, all rubbish! That is why it's not written about"

She puts her head down almost kissing her chest

"All rubbish! All rubbish!" She suddenly shrieks,

A cackle of laughter follows

Cacophonous....

I object but by then she is gone 

At 12.00 PM

Every afternoon 

She comes uninvited 

Sitting on the leafy branch

Of my Chameli tree

Surveys the world around knowledgeably 

Makes a few caustic comments about humans and their follies

Flies away spreading her wings wide

Perhaps

To peep in some other windows 

And collect the leftovers of

Gossips and whispers 

Of mellowed pain 

I don't hide my feelings 

She can't care less

Yet, if she is late 

I look at the clock

And check the time

Is it not 12.00 PM ?

How come she is not here

My neighbour 

Infallible Mrs Crow...

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Last Minute

Sooner we end this the better

The tomfoolery

The bickerings 

The fake smiles

The real tears

The abrupt touch

Of the hands

The dismal longings 

Of togetherness 

The hopes

The disappointments 

The disillusioned dreams

The loss , the pain 

Of losing

The aches, the burns 

The haunting memories 

The fear of knowing

The truth

The exaltations

The exuberances

The excitements

Of rapid heartbeats

The fading happiness 

The hurried parting

The last minute goodbye

Sooner it ends the better

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One Day

One day 

I shall call myself 

Home

Sit across you

And sing a heart to heart 

Song

I have

So many questions to ask 

Hoping after hope

For honest replies

To the mysteries unresolved

To the dark side veiled

By  crooked smiles

To the tears unshed

To the wound untreated

To the pain unembalmed

I guess

You will open up to me 

And I perhaps eagerly  to you

Till we find the fulcrum 

On which to balance 

Our tears and smiles

Pains and relief

Wounds and sutures

Till then

We shall seek moments of truth

Unto ourselves 

With hearts half healed

Flesh half scarred

Notes unmusical 

Lyrics jarred

Thoughts unrevealed 

Unsaid, unfelt, unspoken 

Squashed

Mysteries unveiled

Yet far apart

One day

You and I will be one

Till then....

The quest continues

Unembarked

One day

I will bring you 

Home

You and I

Together 

Shall build a nest

Of songs and lyrics 

Of your and mine

One day...

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At Sixty

At sixty

I am still not consumed forever

Life still flickers

Though not inflammable

It's peculiar strength

Comes from bygone years

By now I should have given up

On having a heart....yet I am not heart-less

Till now.... nor am I green with envy

Of those who possess sweeter memories 

Of days gone by and left in hand

Nor do I yearn for my baby teeth

To show off the whiteness of my soul

Virgin in its longings

At sixty

I am my own self 

A little bitter...a wee bit better than

My former self with roots firmer still

Stretching to the ocean 

Where all tributaries mingle

And loose their own selves

In shape, colour, creed of being human

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Vignettes

emptying out

a magpie's nest

winter memories

***

how softly 

leaves kiss the dust

still spring 

***

chasing shades

summer noons....of

thirsty birdbaths

***

leaves..........some green

now red.......now brown

how little I know myself 

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The Suitcase

I once owned a suitcase

The one which you wouldn't find now

It was sturdy and strong 

The top had a brown cloth lining

With leather patches in the corners

It was lockable with a click 

A prominent sound made

When unlocked too

The inside was blue the hue of infinity 

And spacious too

I stored my precious gems in there

Only a few.....the epics, Ramayana

And Mahabharata, Shakespeare,

Ben Hur, Three Muskateers,

Engrossing translated versions

For children with beautiful pictures

On glazed papers in between 

I read the stories again and again

Deeply inhaled the fragrance 

Of yellowed pages...stared at the

Pictures for hours and hours

Time travelling to be with them

When Ben Hur rode the chariot

And M'Lady smiled mysteriously

Hanuman blazed down Lanka

And the Pandavas battled against

Their brothers....I lived and re-lived

The tales with unforgettable characters

Then I lost to time the suitcase

And my treasures in transit to

Another .... of survival of the fittest 

But it's smell and warmth 

Still remained with me and became

Stronger from memory to living reality

I know as I grow younger by heart

And older by age...the trove shall

Return to me with divine grace

Because that's the rule of the Universe

As linear proceeds time we humans move

Backwards from branches to branches

To slender twigs to wizardry of stems 

And then the roots spread deep within

The bosom of the Earth where all of us

Shall sleep at last with Macbeth, Othello,

Hamlet, Ram, Arjun and the rest

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Holi

In the month of spring or falgun, the festival of colours or holi is celebrated. Mythology says that holi was celebrated by Lord Krishna with Gopiyas or the womenfolk of cattle herders. Philosophically speaking, life itself is holi or a celebration of colours. Each colour depicting each rasa or aspect of life. Based on the bhajan (song of devotion), written by the blind poet Surdas, who was a devout krisna bhakt or disciple of Lord Krishna, my poem talks of holi or the colour fest.

Lo! The hue of the sky

Has turned from blue to red

The bare branches of the trees

Once again flaunt velvety leaves

Of soft, shiny sheen so green

The breeze carries the aroma 

Of fragrant abeer and gulaal

A dust of pink and magenta

Of crushed petals in full bloom

Ablush are the roses and marigolds

Intoxicating are the bright morns

Redolent  are the desultory noons

Amidst the splendour of spring which brings

Colours galore in ashen lives of winter sore

Behold! The cosmic dance of cattle herders

Men and women in a maddening swirl

With fistful of joy how they splash

Puddles of colours with merry twirls

Blinding the Earth, the Moon, the Stars

With saffron, blue, ochre and slash of silver 

Those who have drunk the wine so divine

Have never been waylaid by life's false pains

All in vain but the fest of holi alas ! all is vain

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In A Lighter Vein

Today is also International Women's Day with a tagline #inspireinclusion. 

It's customary to write eloquent posts  in eulogy of womanhood on this day. Social network sites are flooded with so many! For me all days are women's day so we should stop dedicating a particular day to our tribe. Thanks to Poets & Storytellers United for not prompting us to write on the subject.

My very good FB friend recently wrote two consecutive posts on the latest female fashion trends and women's day, respectively, both of which had a streak of humour to it. She is famous for that quirky element. Inspired by both those posts I write on. 

The poem first came to me in my own mother tongue - Bangla and also  simultaneously in English. So both the versions are given here. First in English and then Bangla. However, the English one may not be a literal translation but in essence the same. 

Disclaimer : The poem is our society specific, especially, that of the Northern part of the country and should not be taken as a generic statement.

I am a woman

Who oscillates like the pendulum

From father-brother-husband's

To again

Husband-brother-father's

Lap to lap

I am a woman

Who bags endless respect

Because she can ovulate

Cook like a chef and

With a smiling face endure

Her worst half's painstaking love making

Yet remain alive

And all those women

Who cloak themselves in

Co-Ord Sets*, Jumpsuits

With stifled bladders

Are they women ?

No...not at all

They are aliens from some other planet

Other day the gentleman next door

(Should I call him genteel?)

Broke into a song seeing me

At the corner of the road dog walking

In track pants and T shirt

I have watched him often

Playing with his grandson.... granddaughter

But I know tomorrow he may blow a whistle

At me like those young spoilt local brats

Why? Because in his homestead

Women are just seen not heard

Under layers of fabric masking their faces

Well! You can even dance seductively in mask

It's acceptable

My sister too wears pants and T 

But he dare not sing a song at her

You see, she is married

His fear of getting mauled

By the six feeter

Makes him change tune

Since I have to live I quickly cover

My sexagenarian rickety body

In layers of saree**

You know I have to survive as a woman

There's no other option for me

(*) Co-Ord Set is the latest in vogue. A fashionable version of night suit - Pyjama and Top. It's a formal wear.

(**) Saree is a six yard unstitched fabric in elegant varieties. Traditional dress of India. It is one of our national costumes.

আমি নারি

যে ঘড়ির পেন্ডুলামের মতন দোলে

পিতা - ভ্রাতা - স্বামীর 

আবার 

স্বামী - ভ্রাতা - পিতার

ক্রোড় হতে ক্রোড় - এ 

আমি নারি

যে শুধু একটি কারণে

অজস্র সম্মানের অধিকারিনী

কারণ সে ডিম পাড়ে

রন্ধনপটিয়শি ও 

স্বামীর আদরের যাতনা

হাঁসি মুখে আত্মসাৎ করেও বেঁচে থাকে

আর সেই সব নারি

যারা পড়ে কো-অর্ড সেট,

জাম্পস্যুট, প্রস্রাব চেপে রেখে

তারা কি নারি ?

মোটেই না....তারা এ গ্রহের মানুষ নয়

সেদিন পাশের বাড়ির ভদ্রলোকটি

(তাঁকে ভদ্র বলি কি করে ?)

আমায় দেখে গুনগুনিয়ে গান ধরলো

রাস্তার মোড়ে আমি ট্র্যাক প্যান্টের

উপর টি শার্ট পড়ে কুকুর ঘোরাচ্ছিলাম

লোকটি দাদু গোছের নাতি - পুতি যুক্ত

কিন্তু আমি জানি কাল সে আমায় দেখে শিস দেবে

পাড়ার ইয়াং বখাটে ছেলেগুলোর মতন

কারণ ওর বাড়িতে মহিলারা ঘোমটাবৃত

ঘোমটায় খ্যামটা নাচও চলতে পারে

দিদিও পড়ে প্যান্ট টি শার্ট

কিন্তু ওঁকে দেখে কেউ গান গায় না

কারণ ও বিবাহিতা

গান গাইলে ছ ফুট লম্বা স্বামী দেবে ধোলাই

সেই ভয়টা সুর পাল্টে দেয়

কিন্তু আমায় তো বাঁচতে হবে

তাই তাড়াতাড়ি ঢেকে নিই

এই শাঠ বছরের নড়বড়ে দেহটা

শাড়ির ভাঁজে 

কারণ আমাকে তো নারি হয়ে থাকতে হবে

আর কোনো উপায় নেই

                             Co-Ord Set

                                    Jumpsuit

                                   Saree

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Far But Near

I know they will never be that close

We shall never cross orbits

They will cluster in their constellation

I in my obscurity will await epochs

To let them know my real self

I am a lone roamer and shall remain so

Neither gravitating towards them

Not letting them encroach my domain

Each to his own ...never mind the invites

I shall never make that inter-gallactic travel

Nor will they bridge the light years of separation

We shall remain content in our axes tilted 

But not transgressing that fine zone of "my own"

And some nights when the moon behaves like a stranger

We shall look for each other amidst a nexus of twinkling stars

And call out each other's names through the Silences of the music filtering through the universe

We shall confine our togetherness to distances

unerasable 

You in "your own" I in "my own"

                                 Pic from Google

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