WHEN I LEAVE

An evening I spend,
memories sink when
in arms of scarlet mists,
lamps that brighten it!

O' Lady of the horizon,
quietly you follow
my steps of leisure,
will you not appear
in my stroll to visit
some castles of luxury?

Bravery confronts
unbound imagination!
Oh! Just remind me not
of my prowess of thoughts!
I can play with numbers
as if in God's whitish slumbers-
the particles dispose
as my dreams speak of
patterns that lay hidden
in natural veils untouched!
The symbols disturb me not-
only the arts do play a lot.
The winter is a lullaby
lazy dreams it brings
like numbers gradually
conquering minds of reality!
Where are my sketches?
Only if I could re-evaluate!

The clouds have shadows too:
visitors of sincere Spring!
And why shall I not leave behind
a pair of breaths when I leave-
one for the next me
and one as a memoir!

COLOURS, OFTEN UGLY

I have lost my poetry
in the coloured fabric
of civilization,
that lured me to dance
my ink upon,
unknown of the screams
trapped in the colours
of the cursed fabric!

Black isn't frightening
if She's dark truly.
Voids dressed in colours
of the rainbow kill
enthusiasm of a theist,
deceive the deceived,
mar a revolution!

White is a suffocating camouflage
like emotions of a man
who lost his baby
but saved his wife.
Breaths halt at stoppages
of sketched dreams,
and life...?
Life clings to crumbs
of love,
and gods cling to promises
made to them.

Sunsets invite celebrations:
dances and drinks for teenagers,
nostalgia for old gentlemen,
joys only years can measure!

Basics.
What does life hold?
Colours or perspectives?
Red isn't love
if it's a crime scene.
Black isn't evil
for the blind.
Pink isn't glamorous
without respect.
Brown isn't earth
for land mafias.
White cannot be peace
for confusing fogs.

Only you can speak
of your colour...
Is it random or constant?
Or is it a camouflage
just like White?
Question!

PLANS: unnecessary excess!

The kiss of globalization was never a plan of mankind! Man wished to be better, connected through wired and wireless channels, do business seamlessly, and be present everywhere. That's why he 'globalized' which unfortunately led to the birth of 'plans'. 

For us in school, a 'plan' meant our study plan which we could not follow. In a broader sense, a plan was just our assumed 'aim in life'- the commonest of all essays that a child faced in exams, and a conversation starter with a Sarma Uncle or a Kakoti Auntie. Truly speaking, a 'plan' was something which you would not take seiously, and something that would never pay off. It was synonymous to 'fictional pre-determined failed thought' (excuse me the nonsensical choice of words). 

Today, a 'plan' is like a diet chart. You either follow it or face the morning curse of constipation. Of couse, it has become necessary as life demands more donkey work than donkeys. But, the thin line- something that separates reality from fiction, dreams from actions, science from future, and so on...that thin line between plans becoming a necessity and an obsession has grown thicker than obesity. The obsession is such that many have started planning for the number of ice cream scoops that they would eat in a party. Doing multiple tasks at one go, eventually losing the appetite for dinner, is the result of our 'plan's. Plans are making us stress more on time and wallet rather than quality time and bliss.
Sometimes, it is necessary to go out with our friends without a planned time period. It is necessary to watch a TV serial with our kids rather than completing the last bit of code on a project that has a far deadline. 'Plan's are important but they need not be part of our newspaper reads, tea stall gossips, and random carrom games. Insurances can be planned, not poetry. A train journey may be planned but not its joys. Projects are planned, not knowledge.
Reason, and grow- plans are only our idea of doing our works to give us the confidence we need. They are important but they are not the only fuels of our life's journey.
Life is planned but as done by Time. 

YEARNING

Photo captured by the blogger. Anyone is free to use it.

(some realizations in Kochi, India)

A fragment of my will

I picked up in me

from the white sands

of an uncared sea. 

The fishing nets were alive

unlike the urban me

disturbed by little peace, 

noiseless and empty. 

Undefined to me,

my mind yells no word

absorbed as if it is

in the discipline of seas. 

The tree shelters ages

of poetry on demons and men, 

inspired poetry in the last

of the foreign boatmen

who carved love songs

on the salty woods

of their aged oars. 

She moved hastily

like love in my veins, 

veins in trouble

like her hairs

troubled by the winds... 

Mischievous. Teasing. 

I wished not to talk. 

A first time isn't good. 

Admirable she was

at the verandah

across the lawn

I watched in fear

of watching her much.

What if she mistook

my likeness for desire.

But she knew not

how my poetry loves her

more than me, 

a competent contender. 

And she'll never know

I was watching her

across the lawn

for treasure of a lifetime. 

FREEDOM THAT MUST BE

(a lover's poem in a free country: dedicated to Indian Independence)

A line of your hair flies and rests
on your right cheek, 
an earring dangling beneath
carries little bells of my life, 
my love that I prayed for
at the temple where lives
the centenarian astrologer, 
old but strong, poor but true.

The bells... 
Oh! The crimson sindur
lies on the brass plate, 
the vermillion a little faded
by the ages of the gods, 
yet it stays firm, 
not a pinch of it
moved when the winds
fell upon the temple bells.

All the precious laws
could not alter man's minds, 
the barriers still boast
of their rusted prowess:
they turned faiths into demons, 
castes into excuses, 
and I thought prayers were
written for all men, or
do chants of the temples
have reservations too?

I could have booked a caste too
but I would rather bet on you. 
Your earrings interest me:
they bring back my soul
from the grave of
a poisoned land. 
The lonely line of hair rests still
on your right cheek
now reddened by sindur. 
I wish to move a pinch of it
and place on your forehead
burying all barriers, 
killing all excuses, 
bringing back my freedom
in a free country
seven decades after!

SMILES OF A DAWN

You kept a part of my night
in your daring sky
like you stole some love
from my bank of breaths.
That some love glows in you
in your self like a smile-
yellow shades amidst red,
red warmth that excites the blue.

I watch you like my bride.
I feel you shall carry my life, Dawn
to the dead country over the sea,
but I promise I shan't carry a penny
nor shall I bring crumbs of evil.
You may find some breath in me, though.
But worry not, those shall be for you,
my Dawn, like the smile you kept from me
in the night that fuelled the romance!

Sometimes the dawn is more beautiful than the day!

MARS: bonds of time

[Dedicated to MARS: a family of 4 simple engineers who derive their joys from the simplest of things.]

Mist.

O' the playful calm,

a veil He carries of

joys and charm,

quite sensible and alerts 

the travelling crowd:

He knows of the West

just like an owl of the barn!

Artist.

He crafted a robot

from a hard paper box

and strenuous efforts,

could even sketch

a girl without slightest errors.

He is as silent as the wind,

as bold as the storm.

Rhymer.

When the candles are lit

where light seems fit,

He writes in red ink:

dinners for the beauties

and roses for the beasts,

but His love stays still

unmatched for the other three!

Songster.

A chord when He strikes,

lonely hearts He befriends,

Lyrics when He sing,

He gifts us purposes.

He builds music

just like the Spring,

He sings life

just like the Priest!