Go away, silly one

Go away, silly one, that don’t know of loss,

dub yourself loser, leave joker, laughter not here,

wailed a lady in crowd, all noise did pause,

now clad colourful, old black dresses didn’t smear;

I spoke, I lost but a dream, not living, loving soul,

came not to mourn or share, yet I do care,

gone days of joy, nights of sleep, dreams stole,

gone thunder, rain, rainbow and lighting’s glare;

what desert, as gone the sand beneath my feet,

gone breeze, even mighty sea without time to see,

gone sweet home, now a thorn, my last retreat,

no refuge, no place known to shelter, nowhere to flee;

innocence lost, ignorance cost, spoilt forecast, time flew fast,

gone courage, morals, little laurels, tears and laughter,

gone stories, movies, idle banter, carefree canter of past,

know not where all went, my life spent, grew softer;

pride, confidence, dreams gone with skill and wisdom,

never lost any near and dear, just lost an empty dream,

not compare losses, my misery trifle, akin to boredom,

you lost forever, loved ones, to death, time’s stream;

music, song, poems and prose scribbles died long ago,

forgot drinks, dinners, friends with just cigarette in hand,

didn’t love a soul, lost none, yet your grief with me grow,

despite troubles and sorrow, your feet planted firm on land;

for you love and so live, I merely forgive, you strive, you give,

give your thought and action calmly to those that remain,

those gone, a strong memory, you forever mourn and grieve,

parent, sibling, child or friend, leave void, stain uncleared by strain;

but folks enshrined in history to pavement dweller has to leave,

all love, except vile like me that can’t, from terrorist to rapist,

even I can’t deny being loved, a love that can’t be worn on sleeve,

gone sun, stars, days and nights, not the memory in our midst;

cherish memory with tears or laughter,

dead find lease in your memories, yet how long,

perish with you, you a memory, ones in your’s, lost chapter,

no matter, unsought immortality, till lasts hear love’s song;

Go away confused one, come when know what you want, what to say,

let us in peace pray, why without clarity or purpose, you here stray?

(This is partly done and shall be continued in future posts)

 

 

 

 

Cute Dimpled Daughter

Cute dimpled daughter of my dreams,

heed not the world and never cry,

never be serious it will tear your seams,

never aspire, perspire or try for anything high;

forget the fools around and forever relax,

you are your own world, the one that matters,

this dawns at end, enjoy each moment to the max,

ambitions, work, purpose, all myth that scatters;

be selfish, accept love but love yourself most,

love isn’t a duty but a joy to cherish so never strive,

can’t escape pain, discerningly share till becomes toast,

be tempestuous, moody, but test waters before dive;

Oh, dear daughter don’t ache but live for this daddy,

judged unfit by the world to even be a caddie.

 

New Outlook

I, like the proverbial frog in a well, thought myself to be intelligent and good at writing, especially poems. Far too early I spied on other works and gleaned that they were far too superior. But I felt envy and rage and denial back then. Forgive me I am a child at heart, someone not grown in to an adult yet as my brother often pointed out. This time though when I came across brilliant verses I enjoyed it immensely. The aftermath was not envy or disappointment or self loathing instead it too was joy. I was overjoyed to have witnessed such beauty that springs from the human minds. I consider myself a novice or apprentice of sorts. For the new found joy some credit must go to the magic weavers who made me feel at home and welcome by their visits and encouragements to my humble verses.

It might not have anything to do with that at all. May be today I woke up on the right side of bed. What it was, was a new outlook on life.  I used to be the soul of a party. To us middle class Indians party means chugging a few drinks over the table or having a hearty dinner. Anyway friends loved me for I was an incredibly fun person. There was humorous banter and I didn’t mind and in fact did make myself intentionally the subject of simple minded laughter. But there must be people for there to be laughter. I was isolated except for limited company at odd times. In short I was alone. The school and college buses were gone. Gone the days of innumerable friends and endless joy. My friends now can be counted in my fingers. Life happened and made me lose touch with friends. I got down from the work bus after a very short time. That is about to change with the opening of my restaurant.

People especially my friends envy me for the carefree life I led devoid of a wife and family baggage. I too enjoyed even in my idleness using amazon prime and netflix for movies and libgen to get the fiction books I need. My writings though tend to cling on the sadness, spite and sufferings in my so called jolly life. For solitude and idleness took a toll. Yet all that might change from today. I might be moving slowly to my old chipper self. I might turn out to be the protagonist of the novel Goodbye Mr.Chips instead of becoming a grumpy old man.

All this positivity from the new outlook or rather gaining back my old self. Oh, to think that I of all people had turned in to a sort of a whiner even in the context of my writings. I still shall write sad verses but hope to do jollily so. If T.S Elliot’s take on the suffering mind and the creative self is true then let my writings be mediocre but I shall be happy. That was said to make a point but I intend to pursue writing and mastering the craft especially of poetry slowly but steadily. I don’t know what started my writing may be my shy nature and inability to be popular like my brother, may be was the reason I wrote for my eyes only, in the first place. Now I write, for I have to write. I write for writing’s sake. Like doing a crossword or  a sudoko puzzle for some. Writing verses gives me joy. But I also want the joy of sharing to encourage me more. That is why the blog has rekindled my writing after almost a couple of decades. I am just thirty seven but God I really feel old but not tired with the new outlook.

I am happy now and wishing the same for you guys. A new outlook was all that it took. Happy blogging.

 

Forests

The trees ever still, surrender their will to move,
to give fruits of tasty joy and sweet summer shade,
yet we care little and callously cruel all remove,
with such impunity and such a heartless blade;

lakes and rivers dried, where once we carelessly wade,
in its stead stand buildings tall and small claiming space,
monsoon rains have nowhere to go, no river to be made,
what will we bequeath our kids when crushed nature’s face;

why do I weep alone in this steely fortress of a city,
with high security that not a sorrow shall escape,
Oh, children of the torn, together rise above pity,
grow back beauty lost and mould nature’s shape;

nothing truly lost if the grand turrets are no more,
but if forests go the earth will be a raging hell in store.

There is delicious

There is delicious ice cream in the fridge,

but what occasion, who to share it with,

I am alone but that is water under the bridge,

work hard and your dreams come true is a myth;

I can work for hours and days with words

but other mundane works I despise

doing chores for mom or to feed the birds

my life is dull and boring without a surprise;

tomorrow will be right is the mantra we live by,

but nothing changes hope is a blatant white lie,

distant dreams but life is over, time does fly,

little had of listless surrender to the heart’s cry;

come what may I won’t allow distress be my mistress,

will win the war to be the undisputed king of my fortress. 

I write raw

I write raw,

with many a flaw,

else no thaw,

frozen the writing claw,

there is some rhyme,

but little to no meter,

can I call it poem after,

is it worth a dime;

I write simple,

on things trivial,

like a baby’s dimple,

sweet but not quite cordial;

I am a dare that writes without a care,

yet longing for words and thoughts you can spare.

I grappled

I grappled a lot with the aesthetics

spending time abundant on cosmetics

but couldn’t hide the scalding truth

that I am nothing but a savage uncouth;

can I ever have the style and poise

that I admire in others of my choice,

do I need it at all

yes, I need to be normal

but as there is a peak

there will be a trough weak;

should I accept and move

or fight with a courageous brew.;

all said and done I will never belong,

the wildness in me has been there too long.

 

A Shop Keeper

[ kajalwriterblog.wordpress.com has a poem from the POV of death and was good. So I was inspired to write this piece about a shopkeeper.]

Wake up when the sun is still sleeping,

daily ablutions in the dark and freezing cold,

off to the market in the moped leaping,

haggling, shouting, roaring, for you got to be bold;

flying back to open the sacred shop in time,

arranging things in part chaotic part orderly fashion,

careful in dealing, so as to not let loose a dime,

for though shop abundant, home has a meagre ration;

stay sharp as a fox, smile, be funny, be stubborn,

for customers come in all shapes and moods

cunning, clever, angry, sad, crazy men and women,

deal with suppliers watchful for any broken goods;

a quickly had limited breakfast and lunch in the shop

all the while apologising to the folks for the delay,

have to trust people to sell on credit on top,

never able to sit running an endless relay;

Close shop very late in the night when even owls rested,

have a quick dinner and lie as sleep comes quickly,

here I sat thinking I was given a raw deal and was being tested,

time now to enjoy all I have and stop being fickly.

Good Conscience (Short Story)

good conscience

 

I write for

I write for myself I say. We all say that. But who wouldn’t love an audience a huge readership. The blogging world is chaotic to say the least. Your best efforts might go unnoticed because of sheer chance and ill timing and your not that good works might get more likes than you expected.

You see other works of genius you can never aspire to get appreciated and rightly so. Yet some trifling and not so good things also getting the same applause as the genius is disheartening.

I sometimes say that the blog is just a placeholder detailing the path of my journey till I get there. Where? At least one good work that I can own up to and beam with pride. Who am I kidding I will never get there. So I am stuck with the blog no matter what. What should I aspire for more likes, more follows. That will build gradually all by itself with time and a little patience on my side. And then what?

Well, I am thankful to the blog for I can see my mistakes, feel proud of certain nuances in certain works, lots of other works I get exposed to that inspire me (it is a double edged sword for it sometimes makes me feel inadequate and I can never aspire for such heights). Whatever it is blogging is encouraging me to do the one thing I love -write. And I write a lot nowadays. Both wheat and chaff (more chaff and less wheat) is captured for permanency in my blog.

If I could only write that one poem, one story or novel I will be thankful to my blog.