Friday, 30 August 2013

Jealousy

Image : 'I hate humans'
Courtesy : bendragon.blogspot.com
 

Buried in a self created grave
Where the world lay in deep sleep,
Between undiluted wrath which
Pours pangs of targeted grief,
Our habits are allowed for torture.

What we retrieve as memoirs are
Uneventful days of passionate dreams,
When Eros flew around to spread a
Golden weave of lust, to entrap
Our innocent thoughts and poison
It with a dark potion of grudge.

As the poison spread, we fall
Into a trance devoid of charm,
Which we later coin as a slip
Towards the gorges of love,
But what the mind let pass,
Is the slow death of a comrade.

Can we cipher the unwritten
Words out of our past?
Could we pen it down like
A poet? Maybe then we would
Glimpse the grave where we lie, and
Rediscover our thoughts before they die.

 

Sunday, 18 August 2013

Conversations with God

אחד


Dear God,

It is not that I need to say,
But my heart is not giving a way,
You are the one who knows it all
(Cause after all you made it all),
Meager is it to converse on me,
When you are the architect of
Each and every one of my cell.

Sometimes whilst I sleep, I see
Lights that blind me with radiance,
I feel my head shake with violence,
I hear the sounds of an ebullient bang,
Then I see me flying like a drop in the night,
A whole world of people join me,
We settle near our homes in a bubble.

Like all dreamers, I wish to know
What it meant? Hope to hear a reply.

With love and account,
A fellow born out of your hand.


שנים


Dearest God,

It is only after I ceased the anxious
Spread of words last time, I realised
I never knew whom to send to
(Never have I known where you live),
This is why I kept it beneath a statue of Christ,
Which I am sure you would have got.

It is to be noted that I never got answers,
Maybe some answers are best when unsaid.

I searched for you in the church,
I hunted you among temples,
I even slithered beneath Buddhist caves,
But all I found were images without life.

Sometimes when I get afraid,
I stubbornly call your name,
But no mountains moved on my word,
Is this because I love you less?

I find truth unfurling like rising dust,
The more it shall rise, the lesser you see.

With love and intense account,
A fellow who loves you more and more.


שלושה


God,

Days where I waited have gone,
Yet, the pursuit for truth continue,
I met people, I saw lives,
I heard unanswered prayers and
Dying saints.

I blaspheme now,
Why do you spread hatred?
Why are people fighting each other?
Why do souls haunt even after death?
Why do they drink and fill their thirst,
Out of the Earth's chopped breast?

Beliefs are meant to change,
And some truths be left unsearched.

While you are asleep behind a fading image,
I shall spread the search onto my mind,
I hope to find you cold and dead,
Cause it is I who made you with my fear,
And I am sure I killed you with my sense.

With the last drops of love,
A fellow who failed to find you.

Four


My dear mind,

What distances should I traverse to find you?
What toils should I receive to taste your essence?
Within the arduous lies you create, I wept
Within the boundless happiness you showered,
I fluttered on unafraid.

When my search for you began I was afraid
Of not finding you, I was afraid I may end
Up monotonously settling back onto normality,
When I tasted your faintest scent, the fear turned,
I was afraid of my cynical knowledge finding you,
Conquering you and crushing you with all its
Idealistic irreverence. But then you stood firm.

Oh, heavenly it is to know little,
My dear dearest mind,
You made me taste the bitter tastes of spree,
Now take my body and possess it,
Devour it with your insurmountable force,
Alter it, rattle it and then kill it.

Thursday, 15 August 2013

The Path to Freedom - My Thoughts on India's 67th Independence Day


India celebrates her 67th Independence Day today. But for me, Independence is now reduced to a word. We are still bound by rules that makes us dependent on a government which cannot be even termed democratic. The great Indian Parliament has forgotten the days when it functioned properly. States are struggling to be split apart. Some struggling to counter natural disasters, even more waiting to be falling into the list. Curfews imposed in various parts confuses one with the mere notion of freedom. And then we have a group of politicians accusing each other and campaigning for a distant election. It is true we have made flee the British on this day 66 years ago, but still a long way to go for us to be free.


Independence is a state of mind,
It is challenged on counts of thought.

Brought about by an Eastern notion
Of scurrying the Queen and her zest.

Like a married Indian woman, freedom
Is forced to remain silent. To remain unknown.

Break out of the thoughts that hold us,
Shatter the images of living out of a government.

A provocative struggle is what the father
Wanted, not a passive resistance.

Indeed we can live without being afraid,
If we live the way bureaucracy wants us to.

But why live unafraid? Why reduce to being caged?
When we can live in the wild, roam, eat and revolt.

We are independent, but there are miles to go
Before the state sinks in to our thoughts.

Freedom stays away till the last person feels that he/she is the country, and it is he who should make his rules. Till then, we are still not independent.


My thoughts though march towards a distant past. A past where people stood up in defiance, and were not shadowed by leaders. A time when India was a colony, but the Indian was free in his mind.

 
Chandrasekhar 'Azad'


Subhash Chandra Bose : A forgotten hero



Newspaper report on Bhagat Singh and Batukeshwar Dutt. They bombed the assembly while also making sure that no one got hurt. They were later executed.



The trio which were hanged on the same date.
Mahatma Gandhi : The man who inspired a nation


'My name is Azad, and it means freedom'
The man's eyes glowed in passion with each word,
By the irony of his birth, he was caged,
But with the might of his thoughts, he was
As free as a drifting hawk.

Men like him could never be ruled,
They could never be smothered
From taking off. They crave to fill
The world they live in with the
Freedom that unsettles their poignant
And struggling minds.

They face deaths with a blatant smile,
Face bullets with an ease of mind.
They are driven by courage and
Not with the terror of fear. They
Live, smile and die. But the ideas
They shared shall never pass onto dust.

With a modest appearance, they are
The heroes that no soul hails,
No praise garlands their stubborn resistance,
They hold no glitz, they hold no skill,
But their spirits could never be contained.

It is this a country wants,
Freedom is bridged though thoughts,
When thoughts frame our acts,
We live to be free. When our actions
Unite with the world, everyone
Shall live independent.

The hope and prayers of this country rests with its own people. If they could idealize these individuals who have laid their lives for what they believed in and also to emancipate a nation from the grips of torment, changes could be made possible.


 With a heart that beats for all,
I bow to you, my motherland,
Within your arduous love,
All of us remains united.

When we embrace each other with love,
It is your tricolors that sanctify us,
When we release the charms of duty,
It is your soul that ignites our body.

I bow to you in respect

JAI HIND
 

Saturday, 10 August 2013

Ghazals and Enlightenment


Unguarded thoughts pierced his existence,
Tales of eventful passions, lost loves,
Miseries of hate, lust and hunger continued.
Impoverished streets in his mind was
Tormented with winds of revolt, but
Easier was it to remain inert, to let
The weather clear, to remain the same.

Each night when peaks of love was forced
Onto his meager heart, he thought of the saint
Who came to talk to him during his sleep,
Who said, "Peace shall come from within".
A storm was nearing his mind,
An apocalypse always leads to calm,
Like bullets to head do calm a brain.

Ghazals were staged in his dreams,
Wails of a sorrowful harmonium, with
The broken voices of an aged singer
Agitated his flesh and bones, he sang
Along with the singer, they mouthed words
That praised a fading God in the midst
Of frauds that wrapped the weeping Earth,
They praised the Lord's benevolent soul which
Gave life to buds, tunes to birds and love
To children, who were all beads in a single string.

Like how a singer from the past forced
Rains onto a burning Earth, their song
Made a downpour in his life. In a puddle
That settled forever in his mind, he saw
The reflection of himself standing bowed
With the saint who talked to him in dreams.

With a relieving pain, he saw the Sun
Shine brighter than ever,
Earth spinning slower than before,
Leaves making food with devotion,
Ants building homes before the rains,
And felt the peaceful notes of a divine Ghazal.

He remembered, the saint once said, 
"The teacher shall appear when the student is ready."

Notes
Ghazals in this context means the musical rendering of Sufi poetry. To know more check : Ghazal
And the 2 times when the saint in the poem is advising the narrator, I have used words of Gautama Buddha, which have been slightly modified to fit well into the poem.

Thursday, 8 August 2013

To Poetry


A recurring dream tortured my mind,
Standing by a momentary library,
Where poems I hated to write
Were preserved for eternities, stained
By my narrowing vision,
I read them and wept. 

I was a quill the next day, 
I floated around in a master's hands, 
Obedient and flawless, I scribbled words 
That remained meaningless for all,
And the dream brought me closer
To redemption.

Soothed and tortured, I became a
Poet again, I flew the streets
Stained with blood and hate,
Where sweat spewed mercilessly
On paths where imagination
Once passed with royalty.

I am the quill again, with a subdued
Hue of fetid ink, I write my own
Destiny. I stop me from loving,
I scribble that I were an introvert,
I write that I shall forsake happiness,
That I shall forever be a poet.