Saturday, June 26, 2010
Shielding my heart
along this hauntedwinding roads
the rage, the tempest of life
I’ve known in my veins
when death pulled out
its hidden claws around me
the truth that was stronger
than death endured
along with my dreams
and hope, of freedom,
and love….regal,
not the furtive kind
forgoing myself
it all became possible
but weakened by the
onslaught of time, today,
these genial seams
of my lineage surrender
to a saintly slumber
I shall send
these bouquet of
of my lineage surrender
to a saintly slumber
I shall send
these bouquet of
flowers to the party
by twilight and
resign to my solitude
see the landslide of lights
along the city skyline
by twilight and
resign to my solitude
see the landslide of lights
along the city skyline
rejoice in the splendour
of moon and recline
to the calmness
of the night
shielding my heart
from my own words
of the night
shielding my heart
from my own words
********
Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://public.ornl.gov/ameriflux/Site_Info/siteInfo.cfm?KEYID=us.harvard_forest.01
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Its about time
searching the pagesof my old journals
for the meaning
of life I once knew
(or so I thought)
this picture of you
gazes at me from
between the pages,
this sepia photograph
I’d cut and saved
from the magazine
along with your poem
and a slice of our laughter
from that October eve
when you placed the relics
of a prayer on my palm
with its sandal scent
‘you will know it later’ -
your eyes said.
grabbing it little by little
today, my mind talks almost
like a prophet
in its jaded monotones
you know what I think
life has meaning only in youth
when the search was on,
when we had no answers
guess now its about
grabbing it little by little
today, my mind talks almost
like a prophet
in its jaded monotones
you know what I think
life has meaning only in youth
when the search was on,
when we had no answers
guess now its about
time for a jazz,
and some laughter
and some laughter
**********
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Love Revolution
in the most idyllic of timesthose days come back, the
evening when you smoked
the fire of revolution
into my eyes, and
an unsaid love
an unsaid love
that glistened
in your eyes,
in your eyes,
promises
we forgot
we forgot
to make,
lest keep
the years that
the years that
slipped between us
sipping the cold coffee,
sipping the cold coffee,
this June eve (a rare
indulgence for an old
coffee drinker)
I remember,
I remember,
your passion
when you drank
the tears from my eyes
that evening you left…
were they hot? salty?
seems I haven’t
that evening you left…
were they hot? salty?
seems I haven’t
known it in
years now,
for the sea had
for the sea had
become familiar
and, the one who
and, the one who
took my hand said:
revolution was about
selfless love, and blew
the fire off me…
and those empty
and those empty
promises
'revolution is more',
'revolution is more',
I wanted to say
but did not
but did not
say a word:
I have seen it…and
I have seen it…and
its dirty walkways
now I hold it
now I hold it
latent in my heart,
among my dreams,
and a silent God…
love has never
among my dreams,
and a silent God…
love has never
been so dormant!
**********
Sparked by Timoteo’s Poem “Still Waiting”
http://catnip-timoteo.blogspot.com/2010/06/still-waiting.html
Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
https://7or7va.bay.livefilestore.com/
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Becoming the house
of late I’ve becomemore like the house
this conch shell holding
the ocean on the shores
doing things that
doing things that
I've never done before…
taking in laments that
have long gone
into the crevices
of these yellowed walls
turning them into silence
reforming them into words
scribbling blunt verse in red
taking in laments that
have long gone
into the crevices
of these yellowed walls
turning them into silence
reforming them into words
scribbling blunt verse in red
and black, green lines
scoring them through
much like my days,
and the planner
on the table
as days go by
the house is slowly
withdrawing into silence
my mind clocking
between words...
scoring them through
much like my days,
and the planner
on the table
as days go by
the house is slowly
withdrawing into silence
my mind clocking
between words...
said and unsaid
***********
PS: “Ultimately the house and I became one” – from the first line of a poem by Kamala Das “A Half Day’s Bewitchment”
Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.reefnews.com/reefnews/oceangeo/lookout/conch.html
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sleep, for now
ageless sojournersin the dreamlands of Utopia
we walk through
the draining seasons
of life and nature -
spring to summer to
autumn through winter
catching the tail of
time by the head
and tossing it off
to memory, to eternity
walking the borders of
heaven on earth
and at day’s end
as the sun sinks
into the deep seas
we hold on to hope
hoping to do the same
the next day and the next
through the seasons….
year after year
and while we
tediously cultivate hope
the wheels of time pulls
us through in circles
having its due fun
along the way
Oh! I am feeling too tired
catching the tail of
time by the head
and tossing it off
to memory, to eternity
walking the borders of
heaven on earth
and at day’s end
as the sun sinks
into the deep seas
we hold on to hope
hoping to do the same
the next day and the next
through the seasons….
year after year
and while we
tediously cultivate hope
the wheels of time pulls
us through in circles
having its due fun
along the way
Oh! I am feeling too tired
dizzy, for any more walk
let me sleep for now
bid good night.
sure, I’ll wake up to
walk my dreams and
see hope growing
a hopeless dreamer
sleeps in me…
let me sleep for now
bid good night.
sure, I’ll wake up to
walk my dreams and
see hope growing
a hopeless dreamer
sleeps in me…
***********
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Summer Vacations
in summer vacations like theseI went to my grandmother’s house
for a month of stay or so
stewardess of a matriarch, strict was she
and the old house with many windows
stood in the middle of a large plot
with huge trees, palms and
shrubs, all kinds,
‘manure the soil, fertile the lands
should be,’ she would say
and as the dawn cracked
in the distant blue skies
we carried earthen pitchers
of water to all those trees and palms
to every nook and corner…
in the day she taught me
the rudiments of cooking, the way
to sweep the floor, to wash my cloths
wash the dishes and all those errands
and asked me to pick fallen leaves
from the walkway as they fell
should be,’ she would say
and as the dawn cracked
in the distant blue skies
we carried earthen pitchers
of water to all those trees and palms
to every nook and corner…
in the day she taught me
the rudiments of cooking, the way
to sweep the floor, to wash my cloths
wash the dishes and all those errands
and asked me to pick fallen leaves
from the walkway as they fell
‘keep the walkway pristine
clean,’ she would say
for it is the way for the gods and
goddesses to make their way
clean,’ she would say
for it is the way for the gods and
goddesses to make their way
to our home, anytime of the day
('atithi devo bhava' – 'the guest is god',
was the intent possibly – I would imagine
garlanded gods and godesses would
('atithi devo bhava' – 'the guest is god',
was the intent possibly – I would imagine
garlanded gods and godesses would
come in their golden chariots)
it was there I met
the gandharvas*
who dwelled in the dark barks
of the twisted tree limbs
who held the light of the sun
and music in their soul,
and flew through the air
in the haunted afternoons
I heard them sing with every
passing wind through
the trembling leaves
at dusk she would ask
to light the oil lamps
at the front porch
and to sing songs praising
the gods for the day
songs that still sing in my tongue
it was there I met
the gandharvas*
who dwelled in the dark barks
of the twisted tree limbs
who held the light of the sun
and music in their soul,
and flew through the air
in the haunted afternoons
I heard them sing with every
passing wind through
the trembling leaves
at dusk she would ask
to light the oil lamps
at the front porch
and to sing songs praising
the gods for the day
songs that still sing in my tongue
***********
* Gandharva - Male nature spiritshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gandharva
Photo: as per original copyright at:
http://www.spi.com.sg/haunted/ghoulish_trial/mt_pleasant/DSC03290.jpg
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A strange encounter
‘why not come for poetic workshops’he asked, running his slender fingers through
the salt and pepper beard, bespectacled
eyes blinking on certain infinite points
in the sky, as if weighing possibilities
having emerged out of a bizarre dream
because, I wanted to say, ‘it’s easier for me
to talk to the men and women who work
in the paddy fields at the backyard
of my home; though I don’t know
the slang of their dialect, I understand
the nuances of their raw speech
But I don’t understand the alternate
reality of surreal visions discussed
in those workshops, or the magical
realism of boisterous blue water turning
blood-red as the misty green seahorses
wade through the jaded waves
I am more at ease with them, who
work in my farms or in the factories
who does not talk, but speak the language
of their heart, of the ways they struggle
to get ahead with life, facing oddities
humming the tunes of an old melody
for once he looked into my eyes,
jotted on a creased piece of paper he held
his eyes then circled the skies awhile
leaving me to make sense of the designs
his slender fingers drew in the air
as he walked away into the crowd
***************
PS: A real life experience….I was just out of college, working as a trainee engineer with Laurie Baker’s at Trichur, when this man walked up to me at the bus-stop, inviting me to poetry workshop…I don’t know what made him do that…Did he see me reading poetry sometime? Was my love for poetry imprinted on my face…I don’t know…
I couldn’t say anything except: “Sorry, I didn’t get you” and he walked away drawing figures in the air…
So only the first and last stanza stands true…the rest of it is only my thoughts….
By the way, no offence to surrealism and magical realism or their followers…I love those works and I study them more studiously than the rest, though more often I find it only of pure entertainment value…and sometimes it kind of makes me go crazy with imagination! :)
Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.thehindu.com/2007/11/08/stories/2007110859090300.htm
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About Me
- Devika Jyothi
- A socio-politically inclined self, who likes to analyse the ways of the world....and remain a certain kind of woman. More About Me @: 'Essential Me':-)
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