Kunal, stupid spontaneity of emotions

Thanks to Kunal Kapoor for saying ‘Poetry is a de-stressor.’ I want to try out poetry too. ‘It’s poetry for me but could be something else for anyone who reads it’. That’s what he said and that’s just how I feel. It could be worthless incoherent thoughts for anyone who decides to read by poems. Let’s just let the ball roll. I truly hope Kunal makes it big with his films- the next on the line being ‘Nachle’. I hope he can build his stardom so that he is able to carry a film on his lone shoulders. He doesn’t disappear like Jugal Hansraj or Uday Chopra except to show faces in small stupid roles in big budget flicks. I loved him in ‘LGMD’. The kiss in Lugano was though unnecessary. His hair is great, figure good and smile mesmerizing. I remember his angered walk in ‘Rang De Basanti’ and the door slamming. I hope we have all experienced it in some phase of our life- banging doors on the faces of our family members. That was fun. I was supposed to write poems…….hmmmmmm..hmmm……here they are……….

In a dark black wood

Once upon a time in a dark black wood
A fairy came and hurt her soul
She danced with the wind, sang with the birds and whistled with the leaves
That golden barred trap she didn’t see
Her voice was high and head on fire
The latch closed Alas! It was too late
The little wit she had didn’t work
Her plea resounded in the eerie silence
She was sold to the dark lords
They tried to crush her body and condemn her soul
Her sight they took, her beliefs shook
They infused anger and lust into her soul
Her soul wouldn’t take it
They fought with her and lost
The latch was opened and she was thrown out
Her soul wasn’t sold but it was hurt
A deep bloody mark drenched in pain
She tried to fly but her wings were now claws
She dug the earth, drenched it with her tears
Her body slowly decayed in the doomed soil
She died silently……..
Years later a huge oak tree grew in that place
It rose above the other trees
A light spread from its essence illuminating the sky
Fruits of bliss hung in its branches
Birds and beasts fought for them
The more they picked the more they grew
Each one who tasted it was enlightened
Pain or hunger they never felt
Love ruled their hearts, passion in their souls
The dark lords panicked, powerless to act
They were all transformed
Hearts of gold, wings on flight
Beautiful white fairies dancing in the yester dark wood………..

Send her to me

Save me from the pain
Save me from the sorrow
Save me from the void ness of companionship
Don’t send me an angel, a guiding star
Awaken the one sleeping inside me
Don’t let ugly intentions come between us
We have been together for too long to remember
Through silent fears, far fetched dreams
Give me her company, her approval
I have a long way to go
Without her I wouldn’t be able to do so…………

Oh! Beloved

Did you wake me up when I was pretending to sleep?
Slapped my face, shoved my shoulders
I shut my eyelids tighter, faked a yawn
You did your best and got denial in return
I basked in fake joy why did I?
Now that the sun’s out, my head is clear
We are back where we started
The only difference: you are smiling and I am not
You have my hand and all my fears
Take me in your arms, silence my thoughts
Oh! Beloved you’re my savior, my only friend
May love never part our souls
Never again leave me alone.

If Love be so……………..

I Love you
I Love you more than love can love
I need you more than the sea needs waves
more than dark nights need stars
every breathe needs air
You have healed my sick old heart
Brushed my sorrow with beautiful colors
I pay you the worth of your endeavor with these small words
Small they may be but engraved with my blood

Musings………

They are painting the dragon yellow, the clouds are blue and the color of a few wild flowers they will decide for themselves what to paint. The figures remind you of some gomba in Tibet, Bhutan or our dear Baudha boasts of. It’s an expense few but the newly rich could afford. The house owner loves his creation. He stares at hem with six other men and they appreciate the rich golden color the Buddhist wheel has taken. The painters use their brushes with such scrutiny a drop of paint would not drip through them. The house is a luxury; whatever structure is being built inside the grounds is twisted and wonderful. You couldn’t forget the pool that few seem to have seen but does exist in some balcony and whole the neighborhood talks about it. The sun is high and all I care for is if its heat touches me. I soak up every bit of sun in the verandah and when I am numbed by it I close my eye lids and walk down in a dreamy state to the dirty carpet. The pillow is soothingly hot and I like to sleep. I have not felt so sleepy in a long time. I devour this beautiful sleep, more because dreams don’t come to me during the day. I play with the sun, with my dry fingers and cold feet. I want to dry my feet and the unmatched socks. A few minutes without the socks and I am cold again. I put them on and enjoy the small luxury-his luxury of unmatched socks. One’s a worn out blue and the other a yellow patterned grey. I like to watch my feet stretched out in the sun beautified by two souls who have with time lost their dear partners.

My body changes its position as the sun changes its course in the sky. At the moment I eye the warm sunlight on one tip of my bed. The brown pillow is glowing in the late sunlight. I wish I were there but my fingers are at work and they could easily get distracted. Some where so far and yet so near as if I could touch them I see the Himalayan ranges my country houses. It’s a panoramic view, a once in a lifetime view. A view that has cost more than two thousand lives in another part of the world. I have no worries about the dead in my land. No one’s dead due to the Himalayan exposure here and I needn’t worry unless my head is bobbling out of cold Himalayan water. Maybe a few more decades before the mountains decide they need to cool of and engulf these vast green hills and dry parched terai. That’s an inconvenient truth but with scorn I say’ I could be dead by then: an unmarried spinster who didn’t leave behind anyone to see Mother Nature suffer. Although just now I couldn’t do without the sun. It’s getting late and I want to catch the last bit of sun before it bids my bed adieu.
I know it will come again tomorrow and faithfully we will complete that cycle. The only thing that’s going on and on except the cycle is the ‘radio’. It will wake me in the morn if forget to pull out the plug, soothe my readings, make me smile at absurdities and it will air everyday my favorite old songs. Yes old songs: best songs. So right it was with Biju in ‘The inheritance of loss’ just like I hope with every old South Asian. I cycle with him in the cold streets of New York in a fairytale of taxis, neon lights, hurrying crowds. The cold will hit his chest and he will whimper for the warmth of his home. I will hit him on the back and sing out loud ‘Meri sapno ki rani kab ayegi tu…………bit jaye jindagani kab ayegi tu………chali aja tu chali aa………’ I hope we laugh with tears in our eyes to our stupidity and futile hopes. We glide in that foreign land with alien faces but the warmth of our dreams.

The wild flowers weren’t so just as
“I will call them my people,
Which were not my people;
And her beloved,
Which was not beloved.
ROMANS 9:25
-Beloved (Toni Morrison)

They are a pattern and are now painted red. The dragon is having his teeth and tail painted. I am still musing at my musings………..