Some old pictures of mine..

...that were sleeping somewhere
under the mattress, hidden
in a home I built from scratch(not really)
forgetting about things I owned in a previous life
with a zest
the mere mention of which
is a tiring thought now
(Young and foolish people have a lot of energy, it seems)

Suddenly I began to miss them
while sitting on a new mattress
the one I own and helped carry
into this new place where I now stay

Why didn't I remember to look for them
as I toured the bedroom one last time
with a relief mixed with pain and joy
satisfied that every trace of me
had been removed from there

I did not know that those pictures lay there
silently whispering about how I never look for them anymore
and did not even care to say goodbye
before I left them forever under the blue mattress
my property secretly held by that (mattress) which was not my property
and hence had to be left behind

Maybe they waited through the night
for me to come back for them
or maybe they just understood
and could read the silence and emptiness of the place

It pains me to think I pained them
with a long negligence
which, I so vehemently believe
is the worst way you can treat someone (who cares) 

I don't know if someone found them
without trying to find them
maybe they were looking under the mattress
finding a good resting place for their memories too

what would they make of them ?
these pictures stuck on a big blue sheet of paper
and of all the people in them
that I wanted to keep in my heart
while I was away from them.

So many rainy winter evenings
I had looked at them longingly
in my moments of quiet loneliness
smiling with confused tears in my eyes

before I moved to the blue mattress room
and had no space to spare for them on the wall
for I thought there would be too much of me 
on display then...

No one likes to lose
things, for that matter
but I am a step ahead
I am the clingy kind
with a tight fist, like a baby's

I think twice even
before I discard a used paper cup
so this is a huge oversight 
something I will remember

I suddenly miss them terribly
and I want to say I am sorry
for having been so busy erasing the folds in the present
creating creases of indifference in them

I secretly wish that they are still there
under the mattress
hoping that I will come for them
to take them tomorrow

I know tonight
I will dream
of that empty house and 
the blue mattress
that holds impressions of the younger sillier me
the one frozen in time, that I lost
taped over a sheet, shabbily
posing for pictures , that I have lost ..

Those old pictures of mine..

all that I think..

I sometimes wonder
If reality is a role play
In a world of rules
Where sanity and convention are over rated
And every action desperately hovers around the should
And there is an eternal bias against the could 

The one without justification motivation
That likes to roam aimlessly rejoicing in thoughts of its own 

What sustains this drama
Is it our fear of the free
Or that sense of blind control
That could never mother happiness
or even invite it for a short sojourn

Somehow there is something
That knows
That inspires
That fights against complacence
Derived from this superficial stability
That is best friends with the fickleness of the mind

What is the edifice, the basis, the root equation
That justifies this conundrum around
Over what I could have found
Had my slate been clean

Some questions are like
Restless resonances or echoes
That are eternal, they never die
Just change forms and their perspective from the precipice
Like clouds

Why don't these clouds
Pour heavily today
Wipe my slate clean
Of the indelible impressions
Of the shoulds ifs buts and because that I could never own
And used only to fool myself and others

I am then hoping for some chalk
That can flow like ink
Add the color of a deep peace and joy
And warmly, clumsily embrace all that I think  

The onion-peeler

There are so many delicate layers

buried deep

joys and dreams carefully nestled

disappointments and lessons I am forced to keep

Such worlds within worlds

each its own kind of semi-conclusion

to a certain strong thought or emotion

its own seat in this congregation of feelings

each sometimes,masquerading as the whole of me

all huddling close for comfort

to escape the vulnerability of the outside

Who knows what they will find out ?

How will they perceive what they find?

So much to avoid being peeled, exposed

And then there is the outer visage

The introduction ; the opening page

That shields so well what lies underneath

In a whirlpool of conflicting emotions

a layered identity struggling to breathe

Why is this tendency to grow in layers

so carefully wrapped and bound

Holding on tightly to those guarded experiences

muted, silent in the everyday sound

A secrecy that refuses to dare

the hows and whys (of me) it will never share

It is something/someone in the making

like an unfinished sculpture or a painting

there are more layers and contours surfacing

continuously everyday

and the history of that making

is often hidden, unread

That which is unsaid in all that was said

that which lurks like an accompanying introvert friend

not saying anything but taking those hidden mental notes

That which we somehow learn to protect fiercely

from judgements or mere perception, we hide it slyly 

sometimes it is because no one cares

and then we get so used to this layering

at other times we are so unsure of acceptance

we work on our presentation skills and stifle that voice that pleads for sharing

but secretly we are all wishing for a peeler

that could ever so gently unveil

and some parts of ourselves from ourselves steal 

and then simplify contemplate and explain

the reason for that innate passion or that confusing season of pain

we hide behind these layers

seeking perfection in this bottled up mode

We care more for that outer papery wrapper

while shutting down the inner abode 

We need one to validate, to understand

to unearth why we are, the way we are

to smile at a guilty pleasure and wince in pain over that old scar

These trifle things,

these experiences that I accumulated

somewhere through a metamorphosis,

into an inseparable part of me, they assimilated

To read me, to really know me, to judge me even a bit

you will need to see the non-conforming, the non-average parts that do not fit

a little layer by layer

with an infinite understanding and all the care

that is how you deal with an onion

when you really cry its tears

carefully reading the memories each layer bears

sharing impressions, being careful not to hurt

Delicately releasing flavor buried deep in the dirt

It is not a mere task or a chore

It is a discovery, like reading a book that hasn't been read before

We all have zoomed out versions that do not reveal

And here you need to deal with lots of onion peel 

There is something sacred about valuing another soul,

Just simple recognition for every little bit and a sincere desire to understand the whole

It is not easy but try to be a healer

Offer the opportunity for a catharsis,

When you find you are an onion-peeler ....

The onion-peeler

Worthless tears

Like restless clouds
impatient to pour
or unruly streams that flow down
wayward slopes
unhindered
like young children
or angry teenagers
that sometimes do not know
when where and why
they are going
just surging mindlessly
they run so fast
tiring themselves
in this aimless exertion

my tears are such
untamed inundated
in their complaining
they do not listen to me
and have a mind of their own
Maybe my eyes laugh at them
behind their back
like wise old men
scoffing at the worthless attempts
of the young blood 
acting on impulse and flowing in the moment
or the skies that mock
the rains that wet a barren dead earth
that will never bear the fruit of this labor

but if everything in this world
went to the deserving
many of us would be so poor
I am grateful sometimes
for these expressions of pain
that make me vulnerable
clouding my vision
to shield the summer sun 
enriching me with a passionate pain
all this time wasting themselves....

These worthless tears...

The little things..

The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised.  ~George F. Will, The Leveling Wind




This is about a blue(jay) birdie who comes every day
to get a bite to eat
and how she hops, in discrete, digital kind of jumps,
her head moving from side to side
almost suddenly
her fear of anything
matches so well with my fear of everything
my heart melts to see her so cautious
not enjoying the food but rather snatching it away
from no one but a hurried moment of fear
she has herself woven
occasionally she will look up at me
with two swift movements of her head
I don't know if she understands what I am trying to tell her
She is like this image of mine
And I keep on telling  her , "its all fine"
but we are so comfortable, so conditioned in our spheres of fear
and its so hard to ask her to look beyond and not hold the railing so tight
that her fingers hurt
I want to tell her that she will not fall from the swing in the park
with the rusty chains I can still smell
May be she worries about the little ones
waiting for her to come back
and she carries away little bits of food for them
in her hurry also inventing new fears for their safety
She comes down and hops back
then comes back again
she knows this is not her territory
I just hope she can claim ownership somewhere
That she isn't stuck with this fear all the time everywhere
I know she does not like cranberries as she always leaves them
maybe for the little brown birds that also hop in sometimes
though I don't know them well,
but the blue birdie is my friend
i know this because she trusts me
she, the one who amplifies fear (just like I do)
so it means a lot , this gesture of hers
she will perch on the railing and chirp
call out to me 
sometimes its early in the morning
and when I go out she will just hop a right angle
and two steps and tilt her head in deep observation
I will try not to make her self-conscious
because I know she is (just like I am)
so I pretend not to look
then I go back and close the screen
and she is not as afraid as I would think she will be
she has already hopped down
and is busy looking around for
any danger any moment
I sometimes think what she thinks of me
if we were friends, how reinforcing our actions would be
she gives me a bird's eye view of myself through her
all my scurried movements in fear
only our centers are different
we both sometimes fail to value what we have
right in front
I sometimes think what if we could play a little game
of being right here , in the precise equality of the present
not a plus or a minus
and focus on it with a magnifying glass
so that the nifs(negative if's) appear blurred and far away 
for once...why don't we trick our fears to fly into the sun with wax wings
let them worry all they want, and we enjoy the little things :-)

The little things...

For the love of gray..

Black and White are short-lived
like short dashes in the sketch
but the subtle gray has a strange way
of being my companion along the whole stretch


It manages the extremes
and eases the burden of definition
of the absolute (right or wrong)
in a world that specializes in the art of  division

I like it for its tolerance
for the middle path it takes
I like it for the gentle shades
how in anger no judgements it makes

Why are we so busy
classifying everyone into bins
Why is there so much shame
for the one who never wins

Maybe if we could live and let live
and judge a little less
mix all the bright colors
and learn to love and caress

Gray has empathy and grace
but it does not preach, it will always embrace
both black and white
both night and light , with the same naive face

It does not make a bold statement
it may not be noticed in a room
but it will let other colors speak
make even the pink in the foreground bloom

I not only love grey for its integrity
for its shyness and depth
but for its quiet support to the conflicting
its equanimity, its readiness to accept

I am thankful for all the gray in the world
clouds, carpets and crowds that do not judge
I know there is some grey in all of us(not only in our hair :)),
that gives the "red love" in us the accepting nudge

I always strive to be like gray
grounded and not eager to sway
Whenever the black and whites trouble me,
I pray for it to be a cloudy, thoughtful day..
for the love of gray ..

That nascent effortless smile that I could never learn to fake,
The joyous contours of sheer joy my practical gaze can never make,
So enchanted by the tides of wonder, you let them swim in glee,
If.. I could redo my tainted canvas, If ..the world through you , I could see..

Living in the Book -I

I fear the reckless caution
What scares me is the tamed emotion
No worry for tomorrow is a happy thing
But I fear no joy for the hope that the sunrise brings
I like looking close and deep
But in great detail unhappy memories I did rather not keep
It is an art to measure the depth of life ,
not live in vanity, in vain 
I like adding dimension to it
but a complicated projection is a bane
Sometimes its better to learn
to graze the surface ever so slightly
to amuse yourself with the mundane
rather than endure a discontentment quietly
For depths seem to come in pairs
mirth and despair often in equal shares
Too much thought, too much time
Past a childhood , eager words that still submit to rhyme
An idealism overfed with its own ideas
its exaggerated sense of special and nice
A mind whose fixated notions about everything
not an everyday routine can entice
and so it trudges along, eternally ungrateful and rude at times
Though still fond of cucumbers and melons, rain washed roads and wind chimes :)
Its a love-hate relationship with what this fabric of life around it is
A coming and going of joy and sadness, in its unclaimed premises
It is a frustration at not knowing how to measure
levels of happiness in the now and the needed dollops of leisure
It is an uncompromising painful stare
Against what should have been if the world would care 
Its like missing out a scene while being right there
All of a sudden being wishful of somewhere
which does not happen to be here and now
and beyond the stretches which even imagination would allow
Its like a secret love affair with an idea or a situation
which in reality is married to a scene of now with a bland disposition
It is an intense longing to go overboard
generously sprinkled with  a contradicting fear so proudly stored
Its like a meeting of yes and no
someplace between stop and go
Maybe its beautiful the way it is
in its bitter-sweet agony and little smiles
But sometimes I am scared of its darker shades
and I wonder if it can travel the miles
If it could only create a little of what it envisions
of being bigger than the self, dedicate a passion to its presence 
So, I ask you to simplify it a little
give it some common sense
Some common joys to taste and chew
and an appetite for the uncommon less intense
Maybe close the story book and fold the page
for sometime get down the stage
soothe those nerves and come out of the nook
Re-embrace the life you have, stop living in the book :)  

Notes : This one is to daydreams and the random desire to be someplace else , a stupid sense of dissatisfaction and sadness about the obvious unimportant reasons through which I justify why I am, and the conflicting desire to paint the scene differently, to add more meaning to it(and myself)..

I saw the movie "Midnight in Paris" and thought it talked about that very same , slightly crazy feeling of re-aligning space and time to meet your silly moods or just being angry with them for not changing on your whims...

I think there is lot left in the invisible footnotes that never found their taps on the keyboard and I didn't quite create the whole thought, so maybe I will come back some time to write another part to it..to justify the confusion :)

An earnest romance ...

Maybe not stretched too long unto eternity
But free from the allegation of a dream; seated in an intense reality
To Life..or something/someone beyond me.. 
If..an earnest romance could just be..


I have been trying so hard
since forever
to belong
to slowly let go of what I hold dear
to change the lyrics of my song
to words from "everyone" else's happy lines
but still my heart still pines
for my own kind of paper and pen
my own scripted narration of a happy when.
its like mixing a little color everyday
to your palette to create happy hues
though everyday you struggle with the realization that
you are color blind and they give you just the blues
while telling you to be like their color schemes
and you still couldn't afford it after selling all your default themes
its hard to live with borrowed definitions
of contentment  and a sense of reason
to again and again repeat to yourself
how anyone would be happy in your position
but the problem is that I have large feet
and my shoes would not fit anyone else
my thoughts have a constant hum and am not quite sure
they are always in rhythm with jingle bells
you may choose not to share the darkness I bring
but for me there is no way not to be with myself all the time
to keep on rearranging my jumbled words to a peppy rhyme
which is real not to you but to me
if this were a game of scrabble I would want
no suggestions from someone's winning word
no guidelines on how to be the early bird
but rather just simple letters that may make no sense to anyone
but for me they would rearrange to a perfect perfection
the lousy sleepy dreamy kind
and then maybe even I could talk of my find
with a deep conviction and peace of mind
but as of now i am tired
of forced efforts and downward spirals
of smelling the longer discontentment in contentment
of always trying to be reasonable and pertinent
but maybe someday my words will get there
and effortlessly dance to a melody written without care
till then maybe i will keep trying
and more and more letters I will keep buying
and maybe someday they will all find that earnest romance
to forever conclude this game of words without another chance
just wait for me till i have my song
and I really hope then you can sing along

The price of Happyness

Tell me the recipe for happiness
give me the ingredients, and the exact price
Can I cook it in my stockpot
along with dal and rice ..

I often wonder at what great cost
what to value when the value is lost
how in perfect words explain
the poignant demise of an inner joy in someone's casual disdain

will being quiet help
will it bring me real silence
can I do with a fake dish
can I manage the culinary pretence

why can't I just tell you
a little note by note
we create the recipe with understanding
not with ignorance and least by rote

have you tried some simple dishes
like the one I made the other day
when we just took sugar dreams
and put all the store-bought spices away

I hear them saying all the time
perfection in presentation and a hint of lime
but from whatever I have tasted it was always over-cooked
maybe it was an ego being stuffed and the real gravy overlooked

you know when I have loved it best
when I put all judgements to rest
when not for you or for him or her
but only for my soul I set out to decipher
when I did not please nor command
when I chose to neither hold  nor reprimand
but rather when I was soaking in the subtle flavor
enjoying every little fruit of labor
when seeing all those colors together in the dish
I had wanted to own a rainbow, that had been my silly wish
they say you need the perfect wine
to host and with loved ones dine
I tell you I have been drunk on joy
which those in control did not for me buy
I fermented my own sense of goodness and beauty
which we all have in some measure
I let it ruminate under a full moon
and shared with someone that treasure
he even made it better and not with things bought with money,
he just always stood by me [in our own vineyard] and offered me his priceless company
and when together once we sat down to a simple meal
lots of thoughts we ate and chewed
I can tell you, in all humility of not knowing a great deal
It was in that kitchen, talking on the dinner table, the most pristine happiness that I ever brewed.

Happiness is an inspiration, it is a leap
how to jump I don't myself always know
but when I can, it comes real cheap.

:)

p.s : This is a hurried attempt at conveying something I sometimes think about through something I almost always am thinking about ..food.

Shall we Dance ?

" There's a billion people on the planet ... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things ... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'." - From the movie, "Shall we dance?" in response to the question "Why is it that people get married"  [2004]

let me be a witness to your life and let us move together along.....
let us dance in unison to the unheard song...
let us step on the thin line between right and wrong...
let me be the wind..and you the rain...
let us ponder on every tiny knot that binds the chain...
let me define grace and beauty...and you shall be the definition..
let me aim to reach perfection..and you shall be the achieved precision...
let me hold my head high....for you are my pride..
let me take not only your goodness...but even your mistakes in my stride...
let me behold the whole you....the person complete...
with all the thoughts that cross my mind....let till eternity our gaze meet..
let me read your eyes....and let me know your soul....
let me be your  acquaintance to self...let me make you whole..
let me be everything...let me be nothing..
let me be around...let me be something...
let me not judge you...but let me just take a glance...
as partners in life and death....you and me...the two of us....shall we dance?

p.s : I had read this quote in the "Times of India" before I saw the movie. I had written these lines about 5 years back, on the 24th of January, 2006. Its nice to chance upon old poems, they bring back memories and the forgotten taste of my thoughts when I had written them.

तब कहना हमने प्यार किया..

I had written this a long time back....was just thinking about these lines today. So, I sat down to find these lines and type them in hindi.

बहुत कुछ आया मन में, बहुत कुछ रह गया,

कितना थामा झूठी मुस्कान को, फिर भी अंत में सब बह गया|

जो स्वयं से बड़ा हो, जो अहम् के परे हो,

बस एक ही है रास्ता, फिर क्यूँ मोड़ पर यूं खड़े हो,

वो रास्ता, वो कदम हर बात से बड़े हैं,

फिर सोचते हैं हम किसका हाथ थामे खड़े हैं?

हर स्पर्श, हर प्रेरणा हर भावना का बस एक कवि,

मारीचिका  सी छलती है जिसकी वो पूज्य छवि,

बाकी सब तो एक उलझन में उलझे लगते हैं,

कभी सुन्दर, कभी कठोर, शब्द अर्थों से ठगने लगते हैं|
उस वैराग्य में, उस चेतना में, उस विश्वास में,

वास्तविकता में आध्यात्म के अतुल्य आभास में, 

बिना छोर की डोर के सारे विस्तार में,
मन की हर प्रार्थना में व्यक्त आभार में
अपने अस्तित्व के अर्थ को जो एक नए सिरे से दिखलाए,
जो समर्पण में सुख का अनुभव करना सिखलाए,
मैं-तुम और हम नहीं, बस वो ही रह जाता है,

जब एक अनुभूति का ज्ञान हृदय पटल पर आता है
तब लगता है कुछ भी नहीं जाना अब तक तो,

एक भ्रम सा था जीया था जो.

अब इस राह अकेले चलना हैं,
कच्ची मिटटी को कुछ राख से मलना है
फिर उससे मिलना है, उसको जानना है,

तुम्हे नहीं, बस उसी को आधार मानना है.

उसी से क्षमा, उसी से कृपा, उसी से बस ध्यान चाहिए,
इस जीवन में स्नेह सीख जाऊं, इतना आत्म-ज्ञान चाहिए,

वो अथाह, वो निर्बाध,  

वो अबोध, वो निरपराध,

उसको समझ लिया, उसको ग्रहण किया और उसको अगर धार लिया,
तब समझना सब साधना हो गई, तब कहना हमने प्यार किया..

A parallel universe

Heavily pregnant, waiting to be born, 
What a deceitful garb such dreams adorn,
Enacting themselves in a parallel universe somewhere
Not letting reality take in her share.

Boond..

On a cold winter night
after a late evening shower
I was walking home
alone, with the usual unwanted burden
that I like to carry 

Suddenly she landed upon me
losing herself in that moment
shedding all her burdens of tomorrow
surrendering  submitting
to the happiness of now.

The big drop ..

Boond..

Udaan-II

यूँहीं एक दिन, खाली बैठे, कागज़ पे कुछ बनाया था

कुछ आड़ी-तिरछी रेखाओं से कुछ मन का हिसाब लगाया था

कुछ आकांक्षाएँ थीं, जिन्हें नापकर कम किया था

कुछ खुले हुए घावों को समय की तार से सीया था

कुछ यादों को जमा घटा किया

थोडा किसी कड़वे सच को पिया

सब नाप तौलकर समझ लिया

फिर एक नया रंग लिया

कुछ बादलों में रुई भर दी आखिर

उन्हें एक आकाश के लिए स्वतंत्र किया

कुछ अभिलाषाओं के अर्थ को

और थोड़े से यथार्थ को

लेकर सोचा अब निकल पडूँ

बहुत दूर से देख चुकी,

क्या मैं भी आज,

इस नभ में उडूँ?

Udaan..

 
खुरच खुरच  कर  यादों  से ,
क्यूँ  दुःख  ही  बस  चुनते  हैं
क्यूँ  कभी  उस  बेहिचक  सी,
स्वछंद  हंसी  की
खिलखिलाहट   को  नहीं सुनते  हैं 

किसी की बंधी सोच से ,
हम क्यूँ बंध जाते हैं
किसी के अहम् की क्षुधा  को
क्यूँ अपने आसुओं से बुझाते हैं

अपने परों पे उड़ना
अपनी राहों पे मुड़ना
अपने रंगों की बूंदों से
अपने जीवन चित्र को बुनना

यह अहंकार नहीं
मेरा अधिकार है
 मेरी हर परिभाषा
मेरे सपनों की हर उड़ान  का आधार है

उड़ान

Yuhiin...

कभी कभी गुज़र जाते हैं
ढेर सारे सपनों और रंगों का बोझ लिए,
डरे डरे से, थके हुए
बिना कुछ स्याही से लिखे , कहीं
बस यूहीं..

The broken Dream..

I don't really remember
how old I was
when I first breathed
the smell of rain

It never occured to me then
that this is how
looking at the parched earth
meeting water
I had welcomed the knowledge of pain

Looking at innocuous blossoms
against a clear blue sky
I unknowingly found answers
to every single why

I shaped my right and wrong
and forged in into every poem and song
wove it with colorful dreams
which lay lazily under sunlit beams

I learnt to talk to the moon by my own
and share with it all my fears
for I had heard many stories
of the hefty price of tears
I sat in a thoughtful poets' pose
on a full moon night
I did not care then to know
of how to usher in the morning light

But then, they started growing, moving
often turning in my sleep
Beginning to paint their own pictures
Secretly, somewhere deep

For long I neglected
found more words and thoughts
to feed their growing appetite
and all the attention that they sought

But when I could no longer contain
that irresistible want for reality
I took the chance and
gifted them to this world's duality

For a while, it was all beautiful and fine
and I could hear the distant wind chime
I smiled at passing flowers
and words for me, still rhymed

But then, day by day,
something scraped a little of them away
hurting in the process
as they struggled to grow and stay

It was a long long illness
that left so many scars
like the memoirs of
long  forgotten dead stars

I smile sometimes
sometimes I cry
At other times
I simply try

To have them once again rest
with their wings on the flower bed
and let them feel the sunlight alone
and watch from far instead

But I know its different and they are shy
I sometimes have even heard them cry
I ask them of what took away that desire
to flow tirelessly and never retire

At last, one day in a casual reflection
without the least intent of inspection
I noticed the crack that I had long ignored
that I had assumed time would have cured
lying wearily under that sunlit beam
in the light of the day
I saw "the broken dream"

Freedom

"A brief candle; both ends burning
An endless mile; a bus wheel turning
A friend to share the lonesome times
A handshake and a sip of wine
So say it loud and let it ring
We are all a part of everything
The future, present and the past
Fly on proud bird
You're free at last."- Charlie Daniels

The immeasurable stretch of a cloudless blue sky,
The millions of possibilities ripening in a single "why",
The countless drops that bathe the earth on a cloud's whim
The overpowering urge to flow beyond the brim

The way I choose to feel the pace of time and space
The lines I draw to define the already known face
The smile I wear or the frown I bear
Whether or not I give in to a wandering, homeless tear

The words I write for whatever transpires
unknowingly, secretly, that thinks and inspires
Without permission, wandering into extremes,
From dark memories to daylight dreams

Like the kite bound with an invisible string
Like the whole color palette rainbows bring
The shades I pick to fill in the picture
Each mind open to its own conjecture

A leaf allowed to make its green
The moon deciphering what the tides mean
The sea pouring out its unbound emotion
The sunflower binding in its unstinted devotion

Where is the boundary that describes the norm
Tell me of a water that adheres to form
I want the leaf that knows its home
Or thoughts that don't wander or roam

A stolen silence or cacophony
Ignorant bliss or a thoughtful agony
The earth and the heavens and everything in between
Are entitled to set the stage for the scene

Merging, melting and growing,
evolving each day in the myth of control,
In making small choices, in designing
our sphere of life, we actually own the whole

With each step, every glance
each move, every stance
In losing the owned, protected and decreed
Somewhere a part of myself I freed

Like the mountains, the earth, the sea, the sky
Like the lonely leaf , even the little bee that just passed by,
I was born free
and that is how it shall for eternity be.

Free..

Lurks somewhere..

Painting is a lot like poetry; a means for an unbridled expression with the veil of a well-concealed exterior. Overflowing with what is not obvious(to the eye), a lot lurks in the shadow of every stroke...


Lurks somewhere,

the depth of sadness
in the many dimensions of pain,
the brightness in flowery colors
smothered by a dark stain
the freedom of whatever
in the realm of forever
staining the white
into expressions struggling to define the right
a stroke to contradictions, another to defeat
a deepened scar of the red, with a shade of deceit
casual spring merged with earthy grace
wandering happiness that some contours embrace
to cherish , to spin into memories
in a veil of abstraction, definite stories
dreams gilded, bound by oil
a cooking kitchen for the inner turmoil
a peaceful white
some artificial light
a fall leaf
a faraway sight

lurks somewhere

shuffling across the many layered
shades never owned or bared
brushes always guarded and protected
never allowed to influence
the shapes of time and space
the control a mere pretence

lurks somewhere

all this and more, in closed and open doors
in wooden faces and checkered floors
in landscapes , dunes and mountains by the sea
in all that was and all that could never be,

lurks somewhere

an introspection
a submission
a regret a little history
a tinge of laughter
a longtime victory

lurks somewhere

in my canvas
s o m e w h e r e