When love beckons to you

I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem,
by the roes, or by the hinds of the field,
that you not stir up, nor awaken love,
until it so desires.

~ The Song of Solomon

I wake hime up. Knowing the consequences. You know how empty it feels sometimes. The songs go dry on my flute. The pen oozes empty words. Meaning..You need meaning in life as much as water. Hence I wake him up. Knowing the consequences..

And once he wakes up, he keeps me awake. And I wonder if I should have followed Solomon’s solemn advice. But then its too late.

And I’m left with no other option but to follow The Prophet

When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

~ Kahlil Gibran: The Prophet

Let’s kill it

Who injected
slow poison
In the veins of our love
Time? Distances? You? Me? We?
Or Chance?

As it lies silent, dejected
And stunned
Watching the prospects of a premature death
With a sort of equanimity and
Nonchalance

Know not what you think
But I feel we shouldn’t have left it
To die in cold
A prolonged and ignominious death
And pretend that it’s a natural death
When it is anything but!

If you think it can’t revive
I would say it can’t survive
For God’s sake
Let’s show some mercy

Let’s kill it!

Written on: Feb 02, 2006

Kaash

The secrets hidden and the words untold
And the couple of questions that left me cold,
But how I wished I could, throughout
Pour the feelings to you out.

The mystic gaze of your eyes
The questions they seemed to raise,
I knew them all in my mind
But how I wished I could unwind

Those dreams and all the fantasy
A randomness filled with ecstasy,
How I wished I could struggle,
To unravel this sweet tangle.

That walk on the sparkling sand
You and I, hand in hand,
Moonlit moment, Ah, so brief
How I wished I could repeat.

I longed for you forever
Full of dreams dying never,
Sad you missed the spark in my eye,
Wished we gave it a second try.

The dreams gone and paths split,
How we lay not close a bit,
How sad an end of a blooming tree
Wished I could change it for thee.

Translation of my poem: Kaash
Transalation by : Ranganathan Ramasubramanian

O my dream

O my dream
O my dream

Don’t just be
A mere wish
Don’t just be
ephemeral mist
form the ground
beneath my heart
be my faith
My sweet heart

Ah.. that sheen
that shivering dew
on the tip of bud
for moments few
vivid it was
so short-lived, but

doubt? I did
not in love’s light
rather wind’s might
that causes fright
don’t play in my eyes
hide in my veins

O my dream

For a few days
happiness bloomed
at the gala fair
of town ’T was doomed
I traded all joy
To buy sweet pain
precious it was
bought few grains
Tried, in vain
To make ends meet
Lend me some more
Love’s pain sweet
O my dream
O my dream

Don’t just be
A mere wish
Don’t just be
ephemeral mist
form the ground
beneath my heart
Be my faith
My sweet heart

Translation of my poem- O Swapn Mere

In Search Of Discontinuity

I am surrounded on all sides by thick fog, blown up from the valley into the lap of the hills. I’m little taken aback by its sheer speed. What a transformation! Within five minutes there is no trace of the hills, no trace of the bright sun, no trace of the world, no trace of life, just layer after layer of thick white fog.

Sometimes I wish that I would wipe off all my past from the canvas of my life and start it all over again. I can see this urge in me as early in life as I can remember. I was awful in painting, quite unlike my sister. There was mismatch in the beauty of my imagination and the skill of my hands to paint it. I would try the impossible. The colors won’t match the colors of my imagination. The brush would refuse to be guided by the dreams. I would sulk at what I have painted. I would try to improve it and then a point would come where the painting would get worse with every touch of the brush and in a fit of disappointment I would pour the bottle of black color on it. That would be the end of that day’s painting session. Black. The color of night..so soothing..

I always have mixed feelings about the present state of life. With one hand I like to change it..with the other I would like to preserve it. The difference in what it can be and what it is, haunts me. But the future is built on top of the past. Neither can I improve on it beyond a point, nor can I can’t pour black color on it...

I need a discontinuity now. A thick white fog which can wipe it off. Then a pouring rain. Then a clear sky. I bet I know how to paint rainbows.

The point of no return

It was pleasant day otherwise.. The pale mist had withdrawn its claim over the lake. The reluctant rays of sun played on abundant supply of reflecting surfaces. Over a cup of coffee we talked, argued, fought and screamed. But the oars of reason don’t work well in emotional quagmires. I was well aware that we were not moving anywhere. What a mess it was.

When the storm in the coffee cup didn't subside I gave up. I started playing with my empty coffee cup, my fingers weaving magic over the cup. The magic did work. Slowly her endless stream of accusations became like a noise from distant waterfall. Angry. Tumultuous. Beating the stones in their watery grave. Yet you can sleep listening to that noise, if only you can make it a background and put some thought in the foreground of your mind. I reached a state of bliss(which surprised myself when I look back).

‘A lot can happen over a cup of coffee'. The lines painted on the coffee cup brought smile in my face. A lot..of course. Before I could realize that the smile was at a wrong time and wrong place, a thunderbolt jolted me from my seat. “Are you listening??”.I could see the anger in her eyes. I knew I still loved her but I was helpless. May be she was helpless too.

I decided to let go. My instinct told me to move on. Ignoring her calls and the questioning glances of curious onlookers I walked away.. not knowing where I was going .. Probably it didn't matter .. All the roads were leading to the point of no return.