Travails of a Poet

A multitude in perfect uniformed order,
Soldiers ready to assume the world,
Rank and file
Fiery bombs or fragrant magnolia
Coexist in discordant harmony
In my dictionary.
They lay scattered all around
On the ceiling and at the window
Glowing on the painted stars
In the sky beyond the horizon,
Buried in my imagination.
A whisper, a battle cry,
I sing weep and rage
Loud silent screams
Tear my soul away
Tears and drops of blood
My silence remains white, unstained
Ink and paper not shaking hands.

Words words words
I toss Hamlet's paper away into the basket.

A Poem Unborn

The poem is dead before it is born
Malformed foetus
Disjointed severed limbs
Swimming aimlessly
In a foggy marshland of
 Barren amniotic fluid.
Tide swells
Waves kiss the sand
In a tedious continuum
The west wind rages
Like a wild Tasmanian devil.

The poem is kidnapped
Before it learns to walk
Swept off its little unsure feet
And hurled against flashy billboards
Glittering along the busy expressways.

The mother laments in her throes
Yet to deliver the unformed babe
In the stark, vacant,
White-washed sanitized labour room.

Rivers flow
Streams of blood and tears
Hills and the sky
Look away in remorse
As she holds up a lantern
Looking for the child
Who she has lost and never will find
In swanky busy fiscal Wall Street.

Songs of Panchak in Tagore's ACHALAYATAN..The Immovable Mansion

                  1
No longer will I say no more.
No longer will I fear.
My bonds are released
My prayers answered.
There's a call from the sky
Who will hold me back now.
I have opened all doors today
To go to an everywhere.

They are all there
Weaving a net of illusion
I know not what they count
Only call me back indoor.

I have burnished my arms
Put on my armour
Now the horse will gallop at windspeed
To conquer the entire world.

                          2

I wish to take all so I rush out to take all
I spread myself out across.
My sail flutters in the wind
I am set to go out to the sea
There's no boat waiting though.

In laughter and in tears
The road calls out to my heart
And I hear the flute throughout the day

There's madness in the wings
The bird will fly off the tree
The call resounds in the air all around.

                 3

Far far away

My mind wanders about

To the tune of the flute

That the wind weeps to.

The path that crosses all lands

And loses itself listlessly

Makes my wretched heart yearn

To reach an unknown land.

 4

Where does this path lead to

Oh where?

 To which hillside to which seashore

To what hopelessness

Who knows that, oh who does.

Who goes up and down

This path, and where

Who knows that, oh who does.

 How are his words, how his smile

Who does he go in search of

Who knows that, oh who does?

         

        5

Ha re re re re hey....
Free me oh free me.
As free as the forest bird
Is in joy and glee.
As unbound as the
Downpours of Shravan.
As the robber monsoon wind
Plunders the sky.
Ha re re re re hey...
Who is there to hold back me.
As the forest fire dances around the trees
As the thunder roars in the storm clouds
Its roaring laughter rends
Through all perils and obstacles.

 

         6

Oh who do I call out to--
Break all my bindings.
I stand with outstretched arms-
Take me, ravish me.
You call me out in such a way
That there's no shame and no fear
That I may leave all behind, push all away
To go running away to you.
I am tied up in dreams
But unable to sleep
It wraps around my heart
With closed eyelids
My days on end
Oh where have they dissolved-
Only my heart cries out
In speechless streams of tears.

Letter from Philomela

I wish I could write this letter
To you Mother,
To be soothed by you as in childhood,
Your warm arms around me
Your soft lips kissing my forehead
When my dreams were ripped apart
Burst open, and
Shrapnel lay strewn like
dead withered leaves
Lifeless on the damp soil
Oozy with blood
Flowing from the slain nightingale's body.

I wish I could write this letter
To you all
So you could turn away for a moment
From your HD TV screen
Speaking of death, arson and rape,
Drop no ice cube into your crystal glass
And see how those pairs of eyes
One, two and then so many
Blurred my vision
Enjoyed and drooled
As Philomel shrieked herself to death.

Letters are written no more.
No more does mother wait.
I walk the streets alone,
Wearing my shame on my countenance.

The Wait

Night rages in the wilderness

Of the heart

The  systolic  rhythm is all in a discord

A little nestling opening its beaks

For a morsel of moonshine.

It’s a daily eclipse now

The earth reveling in a somersault

On its axis.

Dolphins’ carcasses black and white

Blacken the conscience of the white Arctics.

The moon has gone to sleep

In the seven sleepers den

The world

Shrouded in a thick black coat

Waits patiently for Prometheus to return.

Dirge of the Hills

You walk down the long and winding ways

And you watch

The first flush of dawn

Paint the glimmering silver

With a rich crimson hue,

The clouds far away still asleep

In another land beyond the sky

The indulging hills play with the birds

And resonate to the beats of the gong

Sounding from a monastery meditating nearby.

And you hear

The winds play on the dulcimer

As the conifers stand tall

Looking lovingly at the acorns

Playing at their feet.

And you see

Clouds arrive from nowhere

To softly embalm the valleys deep down

Impregnate them with lush green growth,

And the hills dance in their souls with nascent joy

To the sound of a harmonious melody

Embellished at night with dazzling diamonds

Never weary for a morning tomorrow,

And you shudder

At Cain wielding a knife

In a fierce carnal desire to possess it all.

Life is Beautiful

Darkness lies awake in its lair

At the turn of the street

Where the blocks of houses

In a manicured row,

A terrace so neat

You thought they were painted...

Where the blocks of houses

Dissipate in a thick black paint.

Darkness lies in ambush in its lair

Where a dozen street dogs

After a dog day afternoon

Huddle in a collective vigilant sleep

Near the rickety grocery shop

With its corrugated iron shutter.

Darkness lies waiting in its lair

For the lonely passerby

Who hums a casual tune

Dangles his arms

Eyes focused on a specific nothing

As he totters down the road

His fingers clutching

The wads of notes in his pocket.

Darkness sits up in its lair

A silver moonbeam as it flashes

Smarts and blinds its eyes

It gropes and groans

And runs to save its life

As the sun rises

Shrouding the world

In a bright muslin light.

HAMLET Today

To be, or not to be, __

That is no longer the question;

The opposition is a juxtaposition

Where

Being is nothingness.

Ignoble inflictions of sufferings

On the urban stoic,

Engulfed in a death-like stupor__

Too doped to take up arms

Against a sea of troubles.

Dilemma is a luxury.

Indecision an impossibility.

Our Hamlet has no choice.

Nobility is in stoic acceptance.