Tag Archives: Poetry

185: …

5 Jul

Ma left for Bangalore this morning. The guest bedroom is lifeless, the sheets perfect, the bed made, her purse and bags missing…just traces of her presence left behind every single where.

I hate saying bye; it’s something I despise immensely. Perhaps it’s a good thing I couldn’t get to spend as much time with her this morning since we were all getting ready to leave. As her cab moved along, all I felt was a sense of loss – of seeing her happy, smiling face everywhere; of just being in her solidly strong presence.

Thankfully there was a hectic day at school that took over everything else. I managed to sponge off some positivity from my students as we shared our thoughts and feelings before beginning our day.

She left behind, among pieces of advice, love, strength and joy, this book I almost picked up at a store but kept for later instead – Rabindranath Tagore’s autobiography – which is a keep.

His work is beyond classical and beautiful, something I thoroughly enjoy poring over bit by bit.

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of
Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”

94: Resonance

4 Apr

Today’s all about perfect indulgences…of which some of them are:

 

 

 

 

 

(drifts away)

93: Looking Back

3 Apr

Here’s one from a while back that I found when I was scrolling back to my posts from way back. I’m not sure if I wrote this or posted this as a source of inspiration. It’s got to be the latter of course, except I’ve been mad and not mentioned anything on that post, and neither can I find any references online. Sometimes looking back can be embarrassingly cringe-worthy, and sometimes it can make today feel embarrassingly cringe-worthy, because go ahead and indulge in this. If I’ve written this, then woah me!

 

ये आसूं, इनको न बहने दो
ये जो मेरी ज़िन्दगी है,
मुझे जीने दो,
मुझे जीने दो.

पास आए ये पल जो लेहेरते हुए
इनको ख्वाबों में बट जाने दो,
ज़िन्दगी के
ख्वाबों में बट जाने दो.

न अकेली में
न अकेले तुम
यह जो हमारे ख्वाब हैं
तैरने दो, इन्हें तुम.

पल हसीं है,
जवानी अमीर है;
इनको न ठेस पहुचाओ.
न रहो अलग तुम
न रहे अलग हम.

 

Happy Monday! :)

Poem to Myself

6 Apr

When did you last embrace
all that was yours and written for you?

Especially when so much from near and far
has come your way, right on cue.

 

IMG_7937

Did the waves you let lap your feet
never root your toes deeper in its sands?

When was the last time
you took your world into your own hands?

In Time

31 Mar

  
You live in your world, I live in mine;

Where do our paths merge, on this road of time?

Memories, moods, emotions in brine;

When do we uncork them, from this bottle of time?

  
Falling leaves and summers with wine;

Will we meet again, in this journey of time?

The One About Time

6 Jan

Snug in whatever warmth I can collect inside my house but surrounded by the constant cacophony of bird conferences just outside, I’m enveloped in a sense of both comfort and newness all in one. It’s comfortable because this space I just called my house has begun feeling more and more like home than it did yesterday, the day before and the day before that as well, and so on. The gushing sound of water right into the sump coupled with the passing of a car’s woofers, from the hustle of kids playing outside before the sun rapidly makes his exit to the slinking of dusk’s tinkling arrival where birds hurry to settle into place and peacocks decide to give their neighbourly explorations a rest for the day, all make themselves fit into that package which spells the clocking of yet another day. The not so distant hum of an aircraft preparing to set hundreds of feet on the same ground it eases itself to land on disappears as soon as it arrives. And that same stillness shuffles her feet to make herself comfortable again. Come the arrival of Time dressed for a show he visits everyday, Evening and Night hold hands and prepare to enthral him yet again, like they do when he visits them everyday, exactly on time and in place – a daily routine with a new surprise every day. For today, my garden flowers have bloomed.

Tomorrow is a new leaf and an undiscovered opportunity, kept under wraps so we can sit back with Today and marvel at her sense of incomplete collectedness. Because there’s always room for more or less, whichever she chooses to employ in her services with Tomorrow.

There’s a reassurance that faith goes hand in hand with security and a love for strength that sometimes overpowers the pride of safety itself. Sometimes. And that Time has his way of walking by your side no matter how newness gleams on his ancient face every single day. Because he’s waiting for me to blossom and burst into peals of happy surprises and laughter when Tomorrow gears himself to hold my hand and guide me to wherever he’s planned I must go.

 

Becoming

20 Jan

I wasn’t prepared to write today. I was in bed just moments ago, trying to get through a book I’ve been savouring but prolonging beyond necessary. My Kindle says I’m about 30 minutes from completing it. And so I left it because 30 minutes isn’t much especially when something stirs you to get up from bed, haul yourself to the laptop and get back again; to write. It’s a blessing.

I’ve been reading Eat, Pray, Love (after having watched the movie first, in one of those rare switches that happens). It has agitated me from time to time which is why I’m unsure if 30 minutes will really be the 30 minutes the world of time knows. Perhaps. But then the book has left me in so many places at once – good places that make me put my book down and explore my new-found lands. Lands that have stars and contentment and peace and questions and sandy beaches and explorations and bicycle rides and magic and giving and taking… lands that make me think about the universe, of life, of sensibilities, of experiences, of exultation, of emotions. It’s all too much to find yourself amid. But it’s poetry nonetheless. And I’d like to use the word poetry because it’s as decipherable as the next enigma. There lie so many questions and so many answers and possibilities and so many chances and opportunities… it’s a marvelous place to be lost in and let go in, because it’s poetry.

Talking about poetry, I’m a part of this one group that sits a little at the edge of the others that fill in the spaces of my small universe. I’d like to think of it that way – just aptly situated at the edge of a starry universe where one talks about life, love, magic, the heart’s love affairs, the mind’s midnight walks, and beer. I’m not sure how the conversation began but it invariably led to poetry. I think we were discussing this concept Elizabeth Gilbert talks about in her book – something on the lines of “being a drop in the ocean and the ocean being in a drop” – which revolves around the concept of our soul and working on it, to some extent and in a singular perception, of course.

But isn’t that poetic? To think of us not just as a drop in the ocean but to realize that the ocean is in a drop too? How magnificent in its ability to change perspectives and highlight the beauty of the whole, the concept of infinity (which was also something we were simultaneously talking about on the group as well) and the image of a continuum.

I connect this to poetry because of its diverse ability to give as you wish to take; for who can be a poet except someone who allows those one-minded walls to free-fall and become fluid? I’m not sure if I’m making sense but you understand what encountering poetry does to you, right? It makes me levitate, to simply put it… it enables me to drift and explore meanings that tremble like leaves and flower petals waiting to be touched, smelt, felt.

Who else can be a poet but someone who can become and allow becoming? To manifest and to allow manifestation. To grow and to allow blossoming. To live and to allow life. What else can poetry be but sharing?

It was through this that one of them shared their poems which, when I chanced my senses on it, made me want to come here and write. And share. Because you should read it. And dive into it. And let it take you places you may like to visit but haven’t yet. I’m also giving you the music that took him to where he was when he wrote this and which could possibly do the same to you too. Thank you for allowing me to share this, A-man.

I LIVE AGAIN
(By ASP)

While the plastic bags do their dance in wind,
I bind, unbind and bind again.
For little mercies and Her mightiness,
I close my eyes and live again.

What one saw is what’s on the mind,
And there She was, sweet-singing glee.
I walked to Her and asked for me,
She sang her song and let me be!

Then a story and once more a song,
And this time I knew, she wasn’t just the sound or smell.
The ocean was a drop and dense as well,
Exploded, eroded, I let it dwell.

The time was when time stood still,
There was space and continuum too.
All I am is also a rock or hill,
I waited for light to dawn and fill.

In her tactful whisper she yelled at me,
Hey you, close your eyes and live again.

Now tell me, isn’t there poetry in sharing? And becoming?

Moments

9 Apr

All I ever need is a moment.
Because it’s in that fleeting moment that I know
that I love you, even if just at the slightest.
It’s that one moment when you look at me
and know that maybe, after all, you do miss me
and love me a little more than you’ve allowed your denial to see.

It’s that one moment when our hands touch
that I know I could hold them forever.
Or when you look at me the way you do,
that you know you want this on loop.
Because all it ever takes for a lifetime’s surety
is that ever fleeting moment;
faster than any thought or consequence or
even declaration.

It’s that one moment when you show me all you’ve got
minus exhibition or spoken word;
without knowing just how much you’ve given me.
Because all it takes in that one beautiful moment
is to know that you belong with me
and that I’ll be yours
even if we realize our truth a million moments later.

I’m not waiting. But I know.
We both know
because every moment reminds me
that this is meant to be.
And when you arrive,
you’ll find me.

And when you arrive,
that fleeting moment will be born to stay.

photo (3)

Movies and Realizations

3 Oct

It’s very hard to get me teary eyed while watching a movie. Bollywood movies don’t count because if you throw in the additional drama and rona-dhona we Indians thrive on, who wouldn’t cry/bawl their eyes out, forget get teary eyed? I cannot count the number of times I have cried for a Karan Johar movie complete with Shah Rukh Khan‘s melodramatic eyes and what have you. This does not mean that I haven’t cried while watching Aamir Khan. The point is that Bollywood movies don’t count. Having gotten that out of the way, and to set my post in a clearer context, I intend to write about this one movie I’ve always dreamed of watching since I heard its name – Dead Poets Society.

Yes. I watched this movie now, in October, 2012. Sooner than later, right? Anyhoo. So yes, I finally managed to catch this one. And even though I realized to my great horror that Mohabattein was a rip-off of this one in every sense of the word, I watched on with vengeance and got hooked right when I heard this:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.

(And because I love poetry and am kind for this one, I got the rest of the poem here too) :)

The glorious lamp of Heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run.
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

– “To the Virgins, to make much of Time” – Robert Herrick

I’ve even highlighted that stanza that literally stood out to me. I’m not going to discuss the poetry used in this film or the poems I put up over here. I guess it’s a matter of subjective interpretation and experience as you savour them. However, going back to the movie, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) has you from go when he inspires his students to Carpe Diem (Seize the Day). This film’s loaded with lines I heard, felt, picked up and re-read again and again. Here are some of them:

We don’t read and write poetry because it is cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering; these are noble pursuits and are necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love; these are what we stay alive for.

I love how there is no negativity towards any of the above pursuits. I love how he speaks so realistically about them. There are no rights and wrongs. There is just good sense and great poetry. We live with one, we stay alive with the other. Truly mind blowing. I love how engaging the entire feel of this movie is.

“…you are here; that life exists and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

Only in their dreams can men be truly free. It was always thus and will always be.” – John Keating

Come my friends, ‘tis not late to seek a newer world for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset. And though we are not now that strength of old days that moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts made weak by time and fate but made strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” – Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Strive to find your voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.

This belongs to that genre of movies that makes you wake up and want to grab life by its collar in the most gentle but hard-hitting way. There are words and then there are attributions you make to those words. It makes you look inwards and outwards and figure what you’re really made up of. It makes you cry either because you’re not what he’s telling his students to be or because you want to go and stand up at that table and say ‘O Captain! My Captain’.

This also is more than just a movie because, strangely it talks about stuff we’ve all been through and will always go through – to stand up for ourselves, to live life the way we want to and not according to the lines someone else wrote, to not conform and to most importantly, think for ourselves. It’s ironic how we wax eloquent about things like freedom and education and being secular in allowing people to form their own identity because somewhere, we’re still stuck in that rut. We still will have to fight to stay alive, whenever and wherever. And we will always have textbooks. And scriptwriters.

Philosophies that are so strong and filled with so much character call for that much more understanding. I guess it’s always easier to read those well-edited and finely approved lines than write crude ones for yourself. While I watched the movie, went back and forth to soak in the feel of this movie, I couldn’t help but draw a mental checklist. A lot of those boxes, I’m proud to say, have been checked both on the actor’s role of this play and the teacher’s role I played. Perhaps that’s why I cried no matter how hard I tried not to.

Here’s a look at the film and some bits :)

The Official Trailer

On Carpe Diem

On Conformity

And the last scene

Please do watch it if you haven’t. :)