The Past Revisits

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The cold, wettish evening breeze, and cottony clouds over the sky, and hidden sun somewhere behind; the feel on skin, the empty time: they all are old, none unmet, new. The solitude and semblant peace, neither new, old friends new met. New is the spot where sit I now, where evening breeze caresses cold and glad my skin with memories old. Of a river, its banks, another breeze, gigantic shapes looming ochre at back.

My house extended, home to peace, Of peace in melancholy dipped and coated twice , or once at least, with slight, thin layered solitude. A time all empty, ready for all sensations, thoughts: good, bad, new, old. A sleight of hand, a trick designed to please, surprise, shock, memory plays, and wisps of olden tinges float; heralded not yet come in sight, with them at heels comes happiness of emptiness and knowledge sad that unsubstantial things of old, with time they gain in  size and force.  Old slaves new tyrants, changed in shape. Cold wettish evening breeze brings back.

 

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Change

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Trees, when sultry shade start to give,

The wind, know you, will change the course.

Darkness, when suggestions start to leave,

Some lamp, somewhere, is lit, be sure.

Illusions: alive you kept them

Illusions: alive that kept you

Till now.

Illusions that thoughts will listen to you.

Empty you remained, silent in pledge,

Till now;

That some day they’ll get your meaning.

Words confused at the use you made,

An arrow, know you, somewhere is shot.

 

Suspicion, revenge will take one day

Your path will lose its track, one day.

Then wander you will, in the realms of self

Find helpless, you will, your own same self

Alien, unknown, staring back from the mirror.

Your secrets, know you, will now be spilled.

 

His burden, for certain,

Everyman must bear.

No way, there is,

Both in/out of life.

Is there?

 Doing some favour?

Is he?

Does life owe him?

Does it?

 

Some birds,

They think.

Even now.

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Nature’s world

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Wherever I look, my view is blocked

By things man made.

Nature’s world no more.

Gentle breeze pushing palm leaves down

It goes up, down and up and down.

The window panes hold ugly glass

Attempts to flow and merge with leaves.

It can’t, for softness merges not

With colours eye-biting dead.

The eyes run back to the world of leaves

Bouncing, flying freely under the sun.

Sap green, yellow and yellowish brown

Some dark green, shooting out of the stalk.

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कविता

M2 RD

दिन भर दौड़ धूप में जैसे
इस शरीर के साथ नहीं था.
इक मशीन के पुर्जे जैसा,
अपना था जो काम किया वो.
रात हुई अब थका हूँ लेकिन
आखिर वक्त निकल है कुछ
फिर मशीन के पुर्जे जैसा
लग कर कुछ पंक्तियाँ बनाने.
क्या कविता भी बन जाएगी
जीवन जैसी?
वाह क्या डर है!
जीवन जैसे एक गाली हो,
श्राप हो जैसे जीवन कोई.

आज मनाता हूँ मैं मन से –
मेरी कविता न बन जाये
जीवन जैसी,
खींचूँ जिसको, भागूं जिससे.
आज मनाता हूँ मैं मन से –
कम से कम इक चीज़ तो हो
जिसमें रस आये.
कम से कम
कोई छांव जहाँ विश्राम करे
एक पथिक क्लांत,
सारा दिन तपती धूप में जलकर.

Note: Thanks to <http://hindi.changathi.com/&gt; that I was able to post my Hindi poem. I don’t know how to type in Hindi, although I write in it!

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Love Poem

wild flower

The air I breathe in, and space in all

Its dimensions; my waking thoughts

And dreams, you.

My fear of losing and continue living,

Day after day, year after year,

Not even shedding a single tear;

For that’s what I know I am –

Frightens me, it frightens me.

The question resurfaced.

From the depths of past, it came;

But it hadn’t gone anywhere.

My weakness that lay crouching

Pounced upon its prey at the

Moment of helpless vulnerability.

I wasn’t so weak before now.

I, who scoffed at those who

Allowed themselves to be drowned

By the emotion called love.

But now, going on the knees, for

One moment; leaving the guarded

Sophistry, my second nature;

I feel like begging; from a person

As powerless as I, to become

The air I breathe in, and congeal

Time right there, so that I don’t

Breathe out the air, conversely,

The air stays inside forever,

Killing  me in the process,

Yet not leaving my body.

The question of intense passions

That make it easier to die for

A cause. You.

I’m not sure yet, for I love to live.

To live with you, how fulfilling,

And happy a state it would be!

Why do I feel I’ve sinned,

Against my own self, in not

Changing at all, even post-love?

Still loathe and avoid death.

Death, the recurrent theme,

Now intertwined with another,

You.

You overpower death, or, let me

Rephrase, fear to fear, losing you,

As a possibility, so engrossed me

That I forgot death for a while.

And now, I have you and death

In front of me. My thoughts run.

They run to hide in your protective lap.

To lie there, to sleep, fearless.

 for death can’t reach there, you’ve told me

With your reassuring eyes. You’ve told me

That the fear of loss – of life, of love; is true.

But asked me to rest while you make

A womb like cover, round my

Psyche. Saving me from this ruthless

World, where I’ve walked, throat

Dry, ever on the move, always

With the fear that one sign,

Of weakness, and they’ll tear me

Apart and feed upon my corpse.

I hardened the cyst but the soft

Core of weakness, of truth; remained.

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Leaves

knoll 2

Leaves green sunlight yellow

Under afternoon sun,

Moving up and down

Like fluttering wings.

Winds shakes trees, branches too.

Brown thatched roof in bright sunlight,

White washed house part hidden

Part seen through the leaves.

Bamboo trees, long green tubes,

Dance with jack fruit, mango, palm.

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Life

How big a bully this life has been!
It pushed you, slapped you, pinched you:
To make you dance on its tunes new
Took props away-all- lest you lean.

How big a con, without a blindfold
It made you trust its lays.
Snatched all your years, all nights and days,
It shackled; poisoned, kept you in hold.

The ground below and wide sky blue,
It’ll make you run and take em away.
If you breathe still, it’ll say,
“Now give me all sweet, small things too –
That hold you when I’ve taken all.