Thursday, September 27, 2007

You May Say I’m A Dreamer

The azure fades into a white so pale
It seems to have no hue.
Gradually the white begins to darken.
A smooth silvery-blue
Appears and then a steely-grey.

The clouds gather… they look like they’re spun from wisps of dreams-
A gently swirling mass, playfully tweaked by the wind’s soft breath.
I wish could ride on them and float away-
To nowhere in particular.

They move so slowly they seem to lie still
Or is it the world that’s moving too fast?
I think the clouds are as they should be.

Suddenly one catches my eye-
Silhouetted against the sky
It seems to take a well-known shape-
An urn… no wait! A swan…not a swan…
The swishing skirt of a pearly-grey gown...
I look harder… oh… it’s just a cloud.

A moment ago it was my dream.

The wind rises, and so does my heartbeat
I feel a rush of blood to the head.
And a cold rush of air against my face
Causing goosebumps to arise.

A rumble of thunder makes me shiver with delight.
As the fork of white fire tears through the sky
For a second the world is violently violet
Branded with streaks of electric pink and blood red
The black shadows lined with blinding light.

And then comes the rain-
Sweet release from the pain
Of problems persistent, petty and mundane!
With every drop, the tears of my soul find an escape from their cowardly refrain.

It totters between
A soft drizzle and a torrential shower
And I swing from a sleep serene
To boundless ecstasy.

As the spray of raindrops sprinkled by the breeze
(A spray as light as stray thoughts)
Films my bare cheek with a silky mist
My heart is lulled to a restful trance.

In the air hangs thick
The musky fragnance of moist earth and wild flowers.
A lone bird’s call pervades the calm.
Down the steaming
Dust-choked streets the raindrops are streaming.
And I… I who was dreaming
Am dreaming still.
I will always be dreaming.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Boredom At School

NOTE:I LURVE school, every bit of it..the lunch breaks, the lessons, but there always will be one or two exceptions to the latter category and this is in honour of one of them, once again-actually written IN one of those periods on paper which I took the teacher's permission to borrow :p

Imagination can deal with it they say,
Perception can completely change the way
Anything you dislike appears to be-
Use them as tools,
Either to build a world of fantasies, never to be broken;
Or to mould those droning tones into a many-chambered vessel
Hiding secrets waiting to be found.
But oh! it isn't easy, for you can never see
Or sense a situation in reality
If you look upon it with aloof practicality.

When you wish to fly away upon the "Wings of Poesy",
When you yearn to melt into the haunting twilight,
When you cry out to be borne by the waves of music,
To feel the wind's soft caress against your cheek,
To be lulled into a slumber awake with dreams-
Strange shadows and echanting sound
Flitting in and out of your mind
Teasing hearing, teasing sight....

YOU CANNOT! For your brain is dulled-
Every pore and every furrow
Clogged with shrill monotony,
The predictable rise and fall,
The dreariness and strain of it all,
Knowing it'll be the same tomorrow.
What pushes you to the brink of sleep
Itself wrenches you back from that abyss deep,
That abyss you would die to plunge into
As you remain teetering on the edge,
Seemingly bound by some dreadful pledge
To wallow in those words of dull precision.

Worse than having nothing to do
(for there you can be helped by imagination )
Having to do what completely destroys you,
You are a writhing, whining, weak slave to...

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Ode To Your Brownies(for my friend Aditi Das)

I shall never forget that fateful day when you had gone out of the classroom
During the ten-minute break, and left behind on your chair-
Your small, round, suplementary tiffin box,
That presented a sight at which I could only stare.

In the metal containter that lay glistening in the light
Of sunbeams dancing on the shining steel-
Were five little brownies-crisp, thick and brown,
Tantalising to smell, and soft to feel.

Not dry and crumbly as is the norm
Nor gooey as cakes are often apt to be,
But a delicate, subtle blend of them all
Adding to the allure, the aura of mystery.

I had no time to entertain doubts of right or wrong.
No time even, to feel fear for the consequences, at the discovery of my forthcoming act.
The stealing of food (and not even for survival)
Was punishable, I knew for a fact.

Of course I could have asked for your permission
But the temptation was too strong, too great.
Papillae, salivary glands, olfactory nerve, iris and epithelium all in overload,
I picked up a brownie which with animal-ferocity I ate!

Oh! Every mouthful was as heavenly to me
As to a bare, bleak canvas is a splash of plaint;
Warm honey trickling into a dry, empty hive;
Cool water to a tiger, thirsty and faint.

You weren't the least bit annoyed when you caught me red-handed.
Having had prior knowledge of your mother's superior baking skills,
You were radiating that soft glow of satisfaction
That with which the heart, deserved admiration fills.

“For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood”
Your brownies are what restore my good cheer!
“They flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude”
And remind me just how much food is dear.

Monday Morning Hues

Its by me, and a friend of mine whose name begins with a B. It was composed during a particularly insufferable period at school when someting interesting was being crucified by the teacher. We made it mushy on purpose.

Me: I'll meet you Monday morning, don't let me down
B: Under the breaking sky, the fading glimmer of stars
Me: When the cool blue is tinged with the faint blush of the early hours
B: Promises that weren't made to be broken, come back to me from that Autumn brown.

Me: While the rest of the world groans about the dreary seven days ahead,
B: You and I darling, you and I will meet again.
Me: Forget the pain of our wait, distance ourselves from the world of men.
B: One moment of intimacy, one moment that is ours, on which light will finally be shed.

Me: I see our strength rising, with the rise of the burning disc.
B: Mistakes are made so very often, such moments, are so very rare-
Me: With our moment let no mistake unthinkingly interfere
B: Secret was our love, silent our moans, it is now time to take the risk.

Seperate we must, but this time not separate for eternity.
When the unfurling of the blazing streaks of gold does start,
We will return to our homes, to life, each with feverishly beating heart,
Yet deep down, a peaceful hope of security and serenity.