Skip to main content

Friendships are Personal

Picture taken during our college trip to Goa (India) last week

When I look back at the 20 years of experience I had on living in this lone planet which is found to harbor life, I find a lot of images passing by like a moving picture. Some faces stay on longer on my memory screen, I prefer to watch them forever.!
This poem is dedicated to everyone you see in the picture, and to anyone whom I find staying a second longer in my memory. Without you life seems a lot less colorful.


A melancholy poem of loss got stuck
Between my pen and paper last night,
In a vain struggle to untie the knots
That choked my words, I injected
A dope of fresh prompts, quite
Unaware of the loneliness that slept
Undisturbed in my rusted mind.

Without knowing the reason why,
I wrote, 'How shall you describe friendship?'.

Just as a faithful dog whines when
A master dies, my pen made a noise
Which killed seven different powers
That blocked me from my words,
I wrote about seven seas and infinite stars,
I envied the path of a frenzied quark.

Though I never added much to the question,
'How shall you describe friendship?'.

Feats of enchanting fleets from fights,
And tales of untamed heights of joy
Passed by my mirrored mind, where
I saw a part of me surrounded by
Hordes of faces I loved seeing beside,
The haste of passing images never took away,
The smile that sprouted from my heart.

With the same benevolent joy, I faced
The question, 'How shall you describe friendship?'.
I knew then, that some things are better
Described when you experience them.



Comments

  1. Mary14 September 2013 at 11:14

    You are so right, I think. It is easier to describe things after you have experienced them.... I am sure your class trip did a lot to cement friendships! There IS something about those trips....

    ReplyDelete
  2. NataĊĦek14 September 2013 at 23:50

    beautiful.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna All the reverberations of the world nestled In a tiny speck that glowed bright, Like beads in a necklace, It united with The mighty hands of a violent Lord. The speck, moved along like a Cobra, It wrestled to be released, A space Overpowering, yet calm waited For the Cobra to taste his infinity. The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand, He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched, With it all powers shall crumble down, With it all creations shall see annihilation. Umbraged, liberated and fearsome, The speck escaped his hands, Fire Spread all around the Lords' head, For once The speck was here, next it was there. It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune, The frenzy uplifted the Lord, His hands moved to push the flame, Onto the circling speck. In a flash of ambrosial light and sound, The speck exploded and whizzed all around, The Lord went onto a fury of power, He felt his waist c
25 comments
Read more

A Lost Love

Artwork: Google Images   The calm of morphine kept fading, By little I found the pain brewing, While the untamed heart kept pounding Much like a blanched pigeon Freshly caged. Days were lost in hours of pain, Weeks passed as I couched Sans the strength to speak out, I gave a whisper one day As lightly as a fading song, I asked the doctors about her health. Spells of hallucination always struck, I remained in a hospital bed Looking at the monitor echoing my beats, But a moment after, I am in a car, Racing at knots at the rage of opium. In a moment my life became white, Her hands were clutched onto mine, I looked into her eyes and a paranoia rose, Is it the morphine that flows through me, Or is it the opium that makes me high? The doctors claimed she had died, But then who sat beside me last night? Drops of tears concerned my vision I felt her as real as the flagitious doctors Who raced around me like wild hyenas. A whi
25 comments
Read more

The Partition

I dedicate this poem to all Pakistanis. You are all as much a kin to me as Indians. One of the many images of partition that moved me emotionally. It was also the cover photo of  Yasmin Khan's book, The Great Partition  The second column of Muslims passed, Not a soul in our side had the strength, To shower them with our words; cursed, Along they passed as silent as us, Drifting with the hot and wild wind, That very often burns our face, As we cut through this desert; wretched. O lovely dawn of freedom, while you showered purple and gold, half of us never knew what future held, Singing and dancing beneath the relentless sun, we hugged and kissed the conspirator's arms. The line drawn that sliced Punjab, The surgical tool that dissected Bengal, Never seemed more poignant, Till it ripped us apart from Lahore, And made us to savor this journey. Guided by a false pretense of safety, Moving onto a false notion of liberty, Living on the narrow verg
21 comments
Read more