beauty

Lone Poets

 

A silver nerve throbs above my eyelids
It says snap
And I see you,
warm
immaterial
slurring past a cherry tree

As the afternoon sun gazes upon your lips
I kiss my cello
And tell him to calm my daydream,
Let it yodel down a mountain rivulet

But as the afternoon sun gazes upon your eyes
unheimlich
becomes
heimlich

And I confess,
I have seen the world
within a desert

without a single oasis
“What a wonderful phenomenon it is, carefully considered, when the human eye, that jewel of organic structures, concentrates its moist brilliance on another human creature!”
― Thomas Mann

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The Wide-eyed monster

How do you even love a stationary face

Simply pinned around the corner wall?
So Let me be honest for once,
My preference will say it all.

A sunny glance hovering above my eyelids.

And that’s how you make my heart tick.

[Please note the eyes instead of the (absolute) handsome face of the gentleman. #GIF]

Four’O Clock street

I think my legs have a favourite street

My head call it the little noon

And as I breathe in its famous sulky dust

It gives me a rare bronze taste

 

I remember learning about the Harvest

Afternoon of the Phoenix’s puzzle and whistling past a solitude

Your friends don’t stay and Red in cheeks becomes for the numb

Some legs swoon on the street

And some are shook by the blatant sun

I blink, trod and reflect.

What if it is the end of tunnel

and his white light is calling for an end?

 

So I hop upon this reawakened heroism

Believing in one last venture of a poetic death

Only to realize that I was just dazed

And tunnel was never really black.

 

The artificial sunflowers reply in brief.

The red brick mansion and a man smiling at ease

A lady tutoring her neighbour’s son

Why, I see it all now hun!

 

The stories caged in flesh are now bound by cement

Souls become Bodies and Bodies become Homes

And yet nonetheless, Stories

Like me. Just Stories.

Image source: National Geographic

Metallic Taste

I am taped to the wall

With my old-lanky legs wrestling with the bees

Eyes: gushy

Mouth: brandy

And, am I now, popping up a heaven-song?

It must be dunk of the ice

it must be the slush, rushing beneath my tongue.

I wear lockets with smiley faces

and yet happiness is the most lousy chamber of my heart

Then this flu–It copulates with anxiety

and lead my livers towards their foundation banks

What.

Then?

Then, I study faces.

Empathizing with human insanity

Delivering reprobation to my virtue:

The irrevocable sadness.

Let’s study again then,

Happiness. Anxiety. Sadness.

All three elements like temples of Dionysius in my vessel

But what is elemental of these elements is:

Sadness.

Staring-at-the-never-dying-clunk-clunk-moth, Sadness.

***

Dawn Diaries

Morning is a pleasant surprise from the cold infiltration of winters that seems to last, almost forever. But today, here in New Delhi, I realized something lie behind the dictatorship of winters.

I admit that I am a night person, from not-sleeping-all-night to my fascination towards everything related to the darkness, moon, those creatures that you cannot really detect at night and the contours of twisted branches of those hundred year old trees. I hate waking up early. However, today I realized this is not the case. Definitely not.

I do not know if it is my connection with the nature or perhaps something ells but today while my father, as he do now then, was dropping me to nearest station, I realized, something is different and then, I suddenly started thinking about all those journals where people claimed to have seen nymphs, little pixie like creatures and have then, enthusiastically claimed their presence is less to be seen and more to be felt. Today I felt that exact presence and although their was no sign of…I would say nature at its “elemental form” but when you live in Delhi, the greenery surpasses such qualms too. You can strangely feel this entangled living of human civilization and the dense green cover, at least virtually. *Touchwood* to it.

It is my tradition to close my eyes and to mediate on breathing the air while I am on the morning bike ride, but these beautiful visions could not let me do so. It was ACTUALLY like winter and summer were mating to give me this beautiful offspring-scenario that popped up that classic song in my head by Louise Armstrong…What a wonderful world. It made me the mother of its very notion as I could feel some sort of patriotism for nature, if something like that exists in our world then I became its mother and it became mine.

John Keats might get that. The sunlight along with the cold mist, all the vehicles and glasses were drenched. Even the sign boards were drenched and then you could see the sunlight playing around your being as it is seen to do in Amazon. And here I am falling away from the anxieties of the world, chasing the sun, my father becomes the angel (Funny thought) who is supposed to take me to heaven. But then define heaven.

Heaven is not a gold mine. Not girls dancing around, serving drink. I remember I came across a really brilliant picture book. I believe it has the accurate description of what is heaven. In the picture, we were drops of golden water, sleeping, at peace, forming a pure golden ocean of souls which as the books says ultimately becomes god. The theory that God is incomplete without us as we are without him. I don’t know if we really becomes god, taking too far the proverb of ‘Divided we fall, united we stand’, but the picture in my mind tells me that it can be better perceived as the ultimate presence of god. He keeps us save. He keeps us at peace while we are having these thousand dreams as we remain in our eternal sleep. We are memories. We will become memories.

Now people ask me, what is your motive in life? I say–to achieve this very place. It is difficult to explain and I am not at all suicidal but yes, this very space. But then as we all know we have to work hard to achieve dreams, henceforth, presently, I am working for other ambitions that are worldly. Such as this blog.