lately revolutionary...

i hv alwys thot am typical...
i am kinda passion driven...
i loved everythin tat i read...
i tried livin wat i read...
there ws sartre whom i liked ...
n i dunno ryt now am findin it all wrong
my perceptions wer really wrong...
it aint the same

Baghdad.....a 100 dreams

Recently heard a poem somewhere...

"ithu Baghdado....
Amma parayum Arabhi kathayile Baghdado..."

(is this Baghdad????????is this the same Baghdad of Arabian Nights of which mom spoke)

Baghdad is completely ravished...Baghdad is destroyed and the innocent child is wonderstruck for baghdad in his dream was a wonderland...now it was completely destroyed..

Baghdad wud be remembered as history's worst ever sin...
the place where a hundred dreams where shattered...

"mushy...."

i hav alwys thot love stories are not worth writing...
i hav alwys thot they are pretty mushy...but ryt now a love story is winding its way outta me...
shud i write it or not?????????/
dunno....will it be mushy???????????

of death...

i imagine myself on ma deathbed,
lost in some beautiful dream,
when death woke me up,
i wished i cud sleep a lil more ,
to dream more,
to colour the landscapes that i saw,
to make the rains more fervent,
to strall the sands once more,
but death wouldn wait.

i wud ask it to wait till my garden was bloom,
i cud see the angelic butterflies wing through the plants i watered,
i cud see them pollinating my flowers,
i cud see love usher in my garden,
i cud see those leaves fallin,
but it wudn wait.

i wud ask it to wait till i cud revisit my past;
i wud remember the days when dad wud bring me chocolates;
when mom wud dress me up;
the man with whom i fell in love;
kisses of passion exchanged;
the son that i bore;
death wud drag me down the memory alley before i cud relish them;

on my flight back to deadman's land,
i wud bid adieu to all that was mine;
i wud ask my son to water my garden;
i wud ask my garden to flower a hundred;
i wud wish it rains for my son forever;
i wud be dead before i complete my prayer;
frozen and still;vacant and vapid;
i wud be dead and nothing more

cravings....

i crave for something...
i jus wish accidents wud make it happen...
for this loneliness is suicidal...
for this winter is too cold...
i walk the banks of this river...
i wish patterns wud appear outta the water...
i walk amidst the crowd..
i search for a familiar face...
for it is so near...
but the ego within me never lets me go near it...
for the heat of life drives me away from it..
for nobody knows how badly i crave for it...
wat is life when it doesn give me wat i crave for?????????

Faiz...

I have always wondered why Faiz is my favourite poet…I have read only a few poems by the poet…apart from a worn out book in my granpa’s collection and a few that I hav read on net there is nothing that I hav read of Faiz…but Faiz still is a pleasure to be read any time…I could while away hours and hours thinking of Faiz poetry…
A beautiful rain is a treat when read with Faiz,a low breeze utters hundred secrets when read along with Faiz,his lines giv you company on a lonely afternoon,gardens rustle a melancholous tune when alongside Faiz…may be am over romanticized by Faiz ..but ther is a certain difference about his poetry…

I came across Faiz during my college days,when I had become extremely wary bout the course that I had taken up and the lecture hours were becoming very boring…I used to read and re read Faiz…I would say Faiz gave me company in my lonely days…
Faiz brilliantly celebrates pain whether it be of love ,war ,separation …
He would never heal your wounds but would poke it again and keep it alive…oblivion would never be allowed to sweep over the festering memories…you spiral up along a memoryline where there has been love ,loss,separation,pain…and you have Faiz for company…his words would intoxicate you…
He would prove by each and every word that pain is inevitable…life is life only when there is pain..
For a college going youngster like me Faiz was more than company ,he kept me sane at times ,
His “prison evening” is one poem which I keep close to my heart..


Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
as if someone just happened to speak of love.
In the courtyard,
the trees are absorbed refugees
embroidering maps of return on the sky.
On the roof,
the moon – lovingly, generously –
is turning the stars
into a dust of sheen.
From every corner, dark-green shadows,
in ripples, come towards me.
At any moment they may break over me,
like the waves of pain each time I remember
this separation from my lover.
This thought keeps consoling me:
though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed
in rooms where lovers are destined to meet,
they cannot snuff out the moon, so today,
nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed,
no poison of torture make me bitter,
if just one evening in prison
can be so strangely sweet,
if just one moment anywhere on this earth.

Another Faiz favourite is “don’t ask me for that love again”

I dunno why am writing this now but at certain junctures in your life you start feeling that its poetry that keeps you going…you derive hopes from poems….i dunno why its so..

at varanasi....i din meet her....

Varanasi.....
the mighty Ganges alongside the mightier river of life...
pyres of mighty men burning....
half lifed humans dipping silently in the Ganges...
barracks of Naga saints,
the silent thread of spirituality entwining with the crude manoevres of man,
.....
i walked along ...dry alleys...crowded markets...
bangle sellers...flower vendors...sadhoos...beggars...
but i knew i was searching something...
searching her....
searching within myself for her...
the gal who had the zest for life...
the gal who dreamed of star studded night...
the gal who loved the rain...
the gal who had love in her heart...

probably she hoped a dip in the Ganges would redeem her,
in fact that was the aim behind Varanasi...
but nay...
she smoked two cigarettes and the smoke burnt her frustration...
she couldn find her....
years of non-accepatance n ego ....
has made her irredeemable...

P.S:i dunno what i mean by this write up.sometimes i find myself completely lost.
i dunno why.i would picture myself wandering in different places for that sense of completeness.i dunno what i am searchin but i hav it in me...prbably am mad...
but ther is certain charm about this madness too...i don smoke too...for me a cigarette is the height of frustration(jus a personal view) and so used as a mere symbol