Thanksgiving

spring cleaning...

dusty drawers

cobwebbed closets

yellowed papers

dogeared tomes

tearing away

distant past

half filled diaries

unfinished poems

ruffling of notes

a bout of sneeze

a dried up leaf

bleached

veined

rumpled sheets

.....a hasty scrawl

a teardrop perhaps

fudged the ink

yet legible

"you've made my day"

just those words 

too far away

fogged in time

yet.....

they spilled 

a thousand years....

once again

a bout of sneeze

running nose

a taste of salt

on the tongue

oh! this dust

cobwebs

memories

too many to handle

too much to bear

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The Elements

Aging

I forget names

With me the earth

Perhaps untimely

Lurking

For a fistful of sky

Still blue

The leaves

Fondle the

Brusque breeze

Scorched

Wounds learn

To heal inflamed

Mourning

in silence

Frozen

As the glaciers

Ought to be

I embrace

What they say

Nothingness

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October

In the whoopsie land

October is special

The autumn fairies

Dance a hip hop

And the winter elves

Wake up from deep slumber

Waiting......watching........wondering

When the sky will turn grey

Clouds will stoop down

The vale and kiss

Off it's hues

And the sun will shrug off

It's shine and hide into its shrine

Beyond the horizon

Where the ocean will 

Sing icy tales of vacant shores

It will hurt first

Then it will be just another day

The ochre will take over the crimson

And the yellow will birth a branch

Of scraggy wails

And the birds will dig their heads deep

Into the hollows of the earth

When you and me will fold in

Our words in a blanket of

Pitch dark silence and patiently

Wait for

Another moon

A few stars

A silky breeze

And dreams 

That will make us smile

All over again

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                            Pic from Pinterest 

Morning Breeze

I inhale deeply

The freshness of dawn

They say it's pollution

I call it life

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Imperceptible

Apathy

I surrender all

Questions

Violence

And find solace in 

As is

Oscillation

To realign the 

Path

Immediacy

I give up the

What ifs

Deviation

Nonetheless 

A Post Script

I AVOID 

Those butterflies

Churning inside 

I know

The river

Changes course

And sometimes

Fences too

 

                         

                                   

                                                 

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Pic from Pinterest

Reverie

 He was a lanky youth

I had just started wearing saree

We took the Chartered Bus from the same stop in the mornings

It was my first job

With a meagre salary

Fresh from College and a sheltered cocoon

I was naïve, shy and saw the world through rose tinted shades

I knew he watched me covertly

Though he sat at the far end of the bus

Where the seasoned men played cards

The ladies sat in front and kept to themselves

I did not know much about him

Sometimes in the evenings 

We again happened to take the same commute home

A few months later I got a seat next to his

By choice

He said he was a year younger to me

I was crestfallen

I had read about "the tall, dark and handsome " 

Who knew how to deal with the world 

 Whom the girls of marriageable age swooned over

"The most eligible bachelor ..."

The mothers crooned to each other

But he knew who to choose

The innocent virgin.....the one who would surrender to his ways 

Without a word of protest

From that day onwards

I ignored him

I did not know about him though

He knew too many things about me

And then he stopped coming in the bus

I wondered why

But that morning...

We bumped into each other one last time

He told me he was being transferred

To another city....?

I too had my plans of shifting base

We did not say good bye

But just crossed the road 

Without a word

I towards the bus stop

He towards home

Oh yes! We were neighbours

A few years later

In the Puja Pandal

Saw him standing at the far end 

I had come over for the vacation

It seemed he still watched me from the corner of his eyes

Greenish brown fringed with curly lashes

We never spoke of course!

It did not make sense

My life had taken a different bend

Away from his 

And I had too many plans which never matured at the end

Still...

Long time after

Again during a vacation

I saw him  walking into the Puja Pandal

Holding the hand of a girl child

A dark woman by his side

His pale skin had a deep tan now

He wore a pair of spectacles

Elderly....serious....responsible....a family man 

Undoubtedly

Yet for a moment he was startled to see me

Still the same perhaps

Quiet, introvert,  too stupidly naïve

 

They say some ties do not have a name

Was this one of those?

I am not so sure

Yet in lonely leisure when I muse over 

Those days...

Once I had got a second hand text book

With beautiful poems written at the back

Was it his?

He had said he had a passion for music

Did he ever sing a song with me in mind

That's stupid.....you know

We had never kissed

Or said "I love you"

That was too cliched

We never got that close

It was just a look, just a smile, just few words

But

I still remember the colour of his eyes

His walk and that quick side way glance

Making wordless poetry on a wet dusk

At the fag end of life

Decades later  

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Paradox

I was born on a long winter night

Mother must have laid cold and cramped

When the umbilical cord was being shorn

Father calculated the planetary position

And my horoscope was born

"She will bring back the lost glory"

Pronounced he and continued harping the Same  till I believed in it

I was just a small child

If by glory he meant the furniture

He had to sell off or the jewelry

My mother wore in her photos

He was somewhat correct

But if it indicated something beyond that 

I am not so sure

But I was tied to his words since the day

I could make some sense of my existence

The paths I took were too narrow, too wide,

Too steep, too crisscrossed

But I persevered

Because I was supposed to be the

Beacon of their life 

Bound by my image I tripped, I fell,

I persevered again so that I could tell

I have won, I have proven

The forecast made

When I had uttered the first cry of life

The destiny that was drawn out

And my journey that was charted 

Even before it began

"Masochist," my sister would say

"Vulnerable", I replied 

I pretended to be brave

When I felt the most shaken

I blazed with anger

When it hurt the most

Scarred when recognition

Came my way all too late

Yet I perpetuated the false hope

In the hope to be the glimmer of hope

In lives flustered by hopelessness

Yet on some moonless nights

Stepping over my own shadow

I wonder what life could have been

If I were not what I was culled out to be

Stronger, braver, lighter and perhaps happier?

Had life let me travel back in time

Would I have had the heart to desist,

"I am not what you make me out to be"

Let me just be the trailing shadow 

And walk in peace

Not the blazing torch you have 

Turned me out to be?

(*) It is customary in our culture to draw the horoscope of a newly born child as per exact time and place of birth. In olden times it entailed long mathematical calculations to derive the planetary position during birth time which would influence the life's journey of a person till death.

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The Glass Ceiling

They said 

You have to taste the food first

I said I am no cat

If I die who will look after my family

That put a stop to the sordid dictum

Which had taken the shape of an ageless  convention

***

He said you should keep it under lock and key

The diary

With pencil entries

Some day you will find them erased

By the miscreants

The diary remained where it was

No miscreants ever touched

***

He said

You ask too many questions

There are some you should never raise

God knows where you will end up

Without a possible return 

I still probe 

Without any hope

Of getting a sane reply

My silence

They have not been able to buy

***

She said

Think over

One day you will be all alone

Without a soul to call your own

I do not till date resent

My decision

To be on my own

I enjoy what others have never done

Walking on broken glass

Barefoot

The boots lost in the storm

Steps bloody yet firm

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The Midas Touch

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Today's Prompt : The Poem should contain          Complete Name of the Poet's Favourite Book

If only I could turn

My life upside down

And yell, "Eureka"

Like Archimedes had done

"Why upside down?"

You may ask 

I'll reply to that

Just give me a while

A simple wish 

With logic of its own

If you care to mull over

You'll understand soon

When you empty your bin 

Or bag or case

Don't you place it upside down

To cleanse off all trace

Of the clutter inside

So do I want to declutter

My life so that I can

Dispose off the slushpile

And start afresh ... dream anew

Even if that never ever comes true

But alas! I am yet to find that one

Sorcerer's Stone

Which can do the trick

Turn the clock back soon

Let life play a jig on its axis 

But if you come upon

The angel who has it

Just whisper my name

To her and in a flash

See the magic wand

Swing in action

Moonwalking may you

Find me "beyond 

                the horizon 

                  beyond"

 Like Michael Jackson

Wanderlust

This week's prompt : 🏙️ City of Dreams 

I had thought at first

I wouldn't opt 

For this prompt 

But then on second thought

"What the heck let's move on..."

I don't have a favourite stop, as ye know

Coz am a reclusive vagabond 

From the days of yore

But my ever increasing lust 

Lingers longer than I want

As I eyed the labyrinthine

Gullies washed in sparkling blue

Again the wandering fever

Took over me

Just as I was going to get lost in the maze

The PC caught hold of me

And screamed, "How dare you haste"

Since then I am ogling over my dream

Of vanishing into the blue

But the screen won't slide apart

And engulf me unto

🤦🤦😋😋😜😜

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I Am Who

The countdown has begun

By the end of this year

I hope to be a free bird

With wings flapping

Drawing an arch across

The vastness of the sky

However I am yet to learn

How to be light enough

To take off to the clouds

How to trash the pent up

Dark mass of unwanted 

Thoughts heavy on the 

Shoulders which slouch

My stance and sleep within

Me when I am awake and

Wakes up to torment when

I wish "good night" to night

The learnings are ancient

The unlearning sure is not easy

Forgetting the past baffles me

Forgiveness .....I am sorry!! What?

I am yet to empty the bin

And stop filling it up again

Time in hand is too short

To sort out the clutter

To weave a new song to coo

I have to begin from the very

Beginning of knowing

And unknowing I am who?

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Mistakes Are Mine

I have shared a lot with her

Opened my heart out

My dissensions with my family

My concept of the ideal

Which was never to be found

The way I wanted to reshape

My childhood so that I could

Grow up a better person

My fear of intimacy

My inability to handle that barrage

Of emotions which I had suppressed

Over epochs , my passionate clinging

To bitterness, the inexcusable hatred

For people who have deprecated my self

My anger which is the only expression

For everything I have been deprived of

My acute sense of righteousness

The injustices languishing within me

Like  festering wounds which refuse to heal

Undoubtedly she is a good listener

Her calculated inputs sort me out 

Tells me to go about life mechanically

Day in and day out without complaint

Without repentance, without guilt, 

Without remorse - for a while it consoles me

And kind of pushes me forward

But at times as I am pulled back again

She keeps quiet because she has repeated

Herself too often and too much that 

Sometimes it sounds gibberish, garbled

I resent those moments - I chose her

Because she is only mine but I wish

When I ventilate my angst in so many

Different ways she could cry out to stop me

From going on and on or hush me up with a 

Hug or just shed a few tears because 

I just can't 

Today's Prompt : AI

Pic from Google

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Music I Can't Hate

 I hate to say 

I have no song to hate

chirping of the birds early morn

 click of a latch opening to dawn

 sprinkle of water on the leaves

 welcome bark of my naughty pet

for a trot in the gentle breeze 

 sharp chiming of the alarm

 soft shuffle of my helping hand

shrieking whistle of the milk pot

 tea to a full boil on the stove

 spooning of the hot drink

 first of  my mom's day meals 

 crisp corn flakes in the cup

 dry chuckling notes I so love 

as  sky warms up to a glow

 bell rings....  tis the milkman I know

 vegetable and fruit sellers call out

in  singsong ways 

the tap rolls out

bucket fills up without a noise

unfolding of the sartorial pile

a car revving ...'nother reversing

mad rush...honking ... hurrying...swerving 

 then the smooth stop at the gate

clicking of boots

punching of cards

quiet parting of the glass 

 PC waking up 

the music's all mine

 .... sometimes a soft score 

at times a crescendo so high

midday....the giggles, the guffaws, the snides

a new lyric of flowing tide

taken over  by  hushed tones 

of rustling sheafs

heaps on heaps

agreeing...disagreeing....making a point.....

sometimes a debate too loud and long

measures of  tea cups or  coffee stimulus

a vocal perhaps not so sonorous 

seeping into the quietude of corridors

gradually as dusk descends to the floor

emptying out of the parking lot

a vigorous welcome.....back to my hearth 

quietened only by crunching of the munch

i wake her up with that warming cup

earlier hand made i miss so much 

her vacant looks, her garbled speech,

her despair soothed by a touch

flicking on of the TV

does not make sense....yet there it is

till the plate of smoked bread 

and curry

is placed before with a flurry

the impatient finding of the pills

which helps me to climb uphill

and then the last drooping of lids

 my out of scale snores

matching with my peeves

all are music 

i just can't hate

like the jingle of a non-stop bell

life sings out to me

with so much zest 

or is it just a mindless jest?  

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What's Not Done

in the womb of the night

i let myself count

what's left undone

in the wink of a moment

they call a lifetime

to grasp the whispered

tales of the wind

to swim away with the

gracious clouds

to playfully whack

the peaks so high

just to startle them out 

of their yogic stance

to snooze on the 

top most branch

of that tree

so near to my window

yet left  unseen

hugging the shimmers 

of a chuckling sun

pirrouette amidst the stars

forlorn 

humming the tune

oh so bygone

resting my head against the

crystal arch of the

crescent moon  🌙

and let the goons

wear out their wars

unbind the width of 

the azure sky with a

a measuring tape of 

sartorial delight

and wrap it around

like a chiffon dress

creases saved

and wrinkles unpressed

to wisk away to a

a god forsaken land

where no-one knows 

who i am

throughout this birth

i wasted time in 

 weighing my bags

 leaving much undone

will i get a wisp 

of a chance

to shirk away

what i ought not done

before the clock's

overwhelming sigh

to swipe away the debris

and say goodbye 

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नाज़ुक सी गलती

Destiny

this spring

my balcony

a carpet of

estranged leaves

maid grumbles

the broom is

too short to 

scurry the past

lunch break

with every morsel

winter tales

she recalls 

her days in

refugee camp

gathering all the

left overs

I tell her

my roots

don't require

a visa

yet a dream ...

perhaps some day

I shall gather them all

twig-less leaves

weedless past

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Nothing Yet Everything

I don't know

whether anything fits the bill

the coyote blue sky

the quilt cover of clouds

the verdant velvety greens

the squirreling pathway

the fallen frizzled leaf

Sometimes a story

of human deprivation

callous cruel catalytic

strikes hard

like a water filled balloon

settles somewhere deep

rattling raking rocking

but doesn't evoke the need

to regurgitate

in cadence or concern

It's much much later 

only when my own

peeves dredge up

from somewhere inside

that those concentric gibberish

groove in circles

rounder and rounder

deeper and deeper

darker and darker

cluttered

labyranthine 

that the groans

seek word

but never enough

but never so satiating

to empty me out

like a vacated room

or a deserted desolate citadel

where once lit up .... joyous jugglery

And sometimes

it's just nothing

merely

gliding by

in Metro

or an open window 

of a rickety coach or cab

the wind swishing past

caressing chiffony

crooning humming murmuring

fragrances 

wistful woeful icy whimpering

remembrances

yet not quite there

Or just a pair of crows cawing

bickering over a squishy piece of 

pedigree 

Nothing fits the bill

nothing

or perhaps

everything 

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A Tanka

dark clouds

hovering over

my tea cup

I learn to bond

with the trees

 

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Face to Face

My life is an open book

Known to all

The telltale tales 

The turbulent troubles

The constricting constrains

The depleting weaknesses

The fleeting revelries

The prolonged aloneness 

 But have anyone ever read

 My silences ?

 Beneath a carpet of dying ashes 

The still smouldering cinders ?

The untimely

Unreasonably

Merciless, shameless

Boundlessly

Hurtling all barriers  

Sudden 

Crashing, tumbling

Torrents of downpour ?

The one and only

Rooted witness

Yet silently spectating 

My ruinous collapse

On drenched cheeks

The scorched streaks 

My bosom foe 

The pricking, embellishing angst

No......don't waste thy mercy 

I am not yet legit 

Let only be there the sobbing

Throbbing 

Unseasonal 

Dousing deluge 

मेरी ज़िन्दगी खुली किताब है                        

सब जानते हैं                                                

मेरी कहानियां                                              

मेरी परेशानियां                                             

मेरी मजबूरियां                                              

मेरी कमज़ोरियाँ                                            

मेरी क्षणभंगुर खुशियां                                    

मेरी चिरंतन तन्हाइयाँ                                    

पर क्या कोई पढ़ पाया                                    

मेरी खामोशियाँ ?                                           

ठंडी रांखों के कालीन के नीचे दबी                  

धधकती चिंगारियां ?                                       

बेवक़्त ही सही                                                

बेवजह ही सही                                               

बेरहम , बेशर्म सी                                            

हर सीमा को लांघती                                        

हर बाँध को तोड़ती                                          

अकस्मात्                                                      

उमड़ती पानियाँ ?                                            

वही तो है इकलौती                                          

चश्मदीद गवाह                                                

एक मात्र पर चुप्पी साधे                                    

घूरती  मेरी बरबादियाँ                                       

गीले गालों पर सूखे                                           

दागों की  निशानियां                                         

वही तो है मेरी जिगरी दुश्मन                              

मेरी खलिश मेरी रानाइयाँ                                 

करो न मुझपे मेहरबानियां                                 

न हूँ मैं इस क़ाबिल                                           

सिर्फ सिसकने दो                                             

सुलगने दो                                                       

यह बेमौसम की                                                

बरसानियाँ         

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The Patchwork Quilt

Note : The concrete image version is for laptop readers

this moonless night

casting all shadows away

a shaft of light

d 

  e

    s

      c

        e

          n

            d

              s

I raise a toast to 

                         f

                        r

                      e

                    e

                  d

                o

             m  

if you ask me

she is really adept at layering                   the parlour girl

eye_____________________liner

m      a       s      k      a     r      a

blue       eye      shadow

                                             deepening the darker circles

underneath my dreams

yet                    i                   am                    swathed                    in                       light

         blinded          till                  i                                 fancy              a                cesspool

                        pulling                          me                                                     in

dark                                 dark                darker                                               lightest

                                                                      

          light              light                                   lighter                      darkest 

              

                     dark                                                         darker

darling

                the patchwork quilt

                                                 i fold myself in

                                                                             past

                                                                                     p  r  i  c  k  i  n  g

                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                     present

                                                                                     p a g i n g 

                                                                            past

tell me                            where is the light i bathe in ?

tell me                                                                            where is the darkness i creep in ?

PS: I realized from Jim's comment that smartphone readers will find it difficult to read this poem where I have tried to create concrete images of patchwork with words. So for those who read on smartphone, here it is a "normal" version

this moonless night

casting all shadows away

a shaft of light

descends

I raise a toast to 

freedom                                           

if you ask me

she is really adept at layering                   the parlour girl

eyeliner

maskara     

blue eye shadow

deepening the darker circles

underneath my dreams

yet i  am  swathed in  light

blinded  till  i  fancy  a  cesspool

pulling me in

dark...... light ......dark........light                               

darker......lighter.........darker.........lighter

darkest.........lightest.............

darling                    the patchwork quilt

i fold myself in                    

past  pricking present paging past

tell me                            where is the light i bathe in ?

tell me                            where is the darkness i creep in ?

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Encore

rejection note

how sweet of her 

to apologize

Nothing new. 

Am  used to it. 

Stoic I call myself. 

sky watch

if only my sighs could

disperse the clouds

But this time her 'sorry' pierced. 

The headaches returned too.

ages

I have meandered 

within 

as

                          light 

                                              as

                                                                  feather

the city rises                             hollow

                                   or 

                                           is

                                    it

                                            the

                                                          mist

              in my eyes                   

 

                                      greying the sky

 wordless 

       wounds 

                  gape

feather light

Pic from Dreamstime.com

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O Ye Wildflowers....Will You Let Me Be Like You

I have often trampled you under my feet

Like others have done to my dreams

Ignored your ever smiling visage

Pulled a face at your wild ways

How you grow unintended without a care in the world

Even plucked you brutally out of my way

And you not even winced once

Cried out in pain or spilled a tear or two

I have disgraced you more than often

Dispelled you from my comfort zone

Called you a burden on this Earth

Growing, grooving, happily dancing where you should not

I have never wanted you, understood you or cared for you

Never have I given a thought what will happen to you if I don't tend or care for you

Will you forgive me ever...my despicable ways

O ye wildflowers!!!

Whatever I have done cannot be now undone

I have wronged, I have sinned, I have weeded you out of my life

Not realising you are me and I am you

Forever the uprooted, the distanced, the unwanted

O ye wildflowers if you'd once bared your soul to me

I would have recognised those scars, those charred wounds, those desperations under the guise of Bohemian delight

Give me a chance to make amends please

O ye queen of wilderness

Let me be you one more time

Let me live life on my own terms

Without explaining others

Why was I born when I was not meant to be

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Recipe Of Love

Poets and Storytellers United

Day breaks

With a steaming cuppa tea

No sweet please...only dairy whitener

No milk either

Sweetness does not go with 

Crackling of dreams

Mid morning 

A cup of coffee with milk again no sugar

Sometimes it's too strong

I tell him to make it a frothy one

With just a sprinkle of coffee powder

On the creamy layer of froth

Afternoon

Twice a week a bowl of starchy corn soup

"You should not be drinking this", friend says

Still I do

Though it does not go with the

The warmth of a dry curry with lentils

And bread (we call it roti) and a bowl of boiled rice

Destarched ....snowy white

Thereafter

My craving for something sweet is satiated

By my room mate

He offers me churme ki laddu

Made by his ma-in-law

With lots of love and care

Divinely delicious dissolving inside the mouth

Like a star de-moulding in a black hole 

Mid afternoon

Again a cup of coffee

To make me realize am still alive

This time ti's rather drab

The maker is tired by the rut

Evening

Again a cuppa tea just like morning

Dinner

Simple -- left overs of the day

That's the way it is

From breaking  till remaking of dreams

To forget during the gruels of the day

We feed ourselves the recipes of love

Not exotic nor exorbitant nor exhilarating 

Had it been so we would not have doodled an irresistible garnish

Or perhaps taken our last breath 

Turning and tossing in oblivion

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Night Cape

In the womb of night

We whisper soft lies

To our beloved ones

To make them believe

In this make believe world

Of stars sequined on Earth

And moon's conquest of the sky

A Cinderella tale of fairies and wands

As fickle as the seasons 

As free-willed as dunes of sand

Breezes that blow of wants and angst

Shall whip away in no time

The princess of no-land

Then whom shall we whisper

Those unabashed lies

Of stars spreadeagled on Earth

And skyless moon maligned

The Visitors

I watch all day long

Crows and squirrels

Prancing up and down

The Champa* tree

I wish I could grow lighter feet

To cuddle the clouds

Touch the top of the trees

Flap wings across the sky

The visitors to my garden

Teach me to aspire

Beyond the limits of

My earthy skills and

Narrow domain of

Mundane worries

And cheap, unexciting thrills

Champa :Magnolia Champaka or Champak Tree

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Healing Centre

 I haul my bags in and am greeted with a "you are late."

I pause

scraping of wheelers

hurts the silence

No way I can go back. She extends her hands and smilingly burrows me with a warm hug.

oh!

this weight of 

frozen steps

"You will get used to it." There's a twinkle in her eyes. How does she know what I am going through?

quagmire

deep down we are

all the same

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