Day 3

Thandi chaadar mein to neend nahi aati hai. Soch raha hoon ki jab le jayenge tab chaadar thandi to nainhogi?

ठंडी चादर में तो नींद नही आती है मुझे

जब ले जायेंगे तब मुझे पता शायद न चले

गर रूह महसूस कर पाएगी, तो शायद न सोए

पर रूह को ठंड में करवटें लेते कौन देखेगा

The first day

1. The first day.

This is a series of my journey's completion. The years have been kind and gentle to me in the way it could have been. I am not one to be amongst the fish that struggle in a dragnet as they head towards an unforeseen end. I write my beginning and end and I shall write the same starting with this one. I would wish to thank everyone who has made this journey troublesome for they helped me find the few who have extended their unending support. I have no qualms about leaving for I am leaving without a legacy or debt. My debts are paid and the ones that I owe shall be well compensated as the next few months go by. I have always set souls free from my bonds and I have finally been set free by me to wait around and pave my own path that I have set ahead to the end of my journey. I do apologise for any and all shortcomings the ones associated with me have encountered. To those who feel I may have been of some help, if you can pass the deed on to someone please do so.

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Don't cut your hair, your tresses are the very fabric of the universe itself 

I have found my sun amongst them, often subdued

If this would be my last lament

How deep are these woods that I traverse, How long my walk

For the legs are unwilling and the mind has lost all hope

Between the qualms of love, longing, and then waking up to realisation

The sun shafts piercing through these boughs paint only desolation

A morbid fear is what the moss casts into pristine imagery

That reflects into my heart a sense of unfit and unbecoming

I had to be a light on the path of life for company to be passersby 

And as the fading sunlight darkens these woods I struggle for light

This could not be more poetic, this fearless abandonment I seek

For I am only counting down to the days that I have set aside now

The only hope is to make it through these woods to the clearing

And dive into the valley from the cliffs of bindings thereof 

If one shall find my bones, stuck on some shallow crevice

I hope it is sans flesh and the marrow may have nourished something

The last gast of air I breathe in and exhale shall be of contempt though

For all that I have lived and for no longer wish  me another breath

Jet lag

I wonder if we ever empathize with the tyres of airplanes

If by chance they were alive, like say our faith brought it to life

Would we scream an "Ouch" each time our flight landed

Also heave a sigh of relief when we took off, easing the weight on then

Those beautiful thick rubber rounded lovely black circular tyres

They must grow tired, working day in and out I feel

Though I do not wish life upon them, but it is alive I perceive

My foolish poetic mind yearns to feel life in all after all

Have you seen them scrape themselves as they land face first

They have a big face and it is like all over their circular selves

Would you not care to spare a thought to equate yourself with them

I do not think you need to be a poet to see these beautiful wheels

Namma Bengaluru

It's a lovely winter morning, past noon thirty two to two

With Bengaluru winter days who is sure if it is morning or noon

It is a beautiful shade of a winter morning that others places wish for

And I am relishing my last few hours here

The streets are littered with parked cars

tis a Silent,Saturday; a lull from it's usual traffic jams

The leaves from the rain trees have yellowed and parted

As if to mask the hideous metallic creations of man

The tea stall vendor has bananas, I finish my brunch on a couple

I lit up my cigarette and try to communicate with him, struggle 

He speaks Hindi and I feel right at home then

Yes Mumbai, you are everywhere aren't you

So goodbye for now Bengaluru, thank you for the week you held me

You made me feel at home for a moment with my friends

I would wish to be back to walk amongst these tree lined sidewalks

But that is for another season, I will now bid you my goodbyes 

Hey , I am out of glasses

Let's go together to where there are no glasses

Take a trip to the wild sides of ourselves

Sip from a bottle of wine and be my glass

And let me drink it from your gentle lips thereof

I can pretend the wine is water and I am parched

But is it pretence if I yearn a drink from your mouth at all

For all the wine glasses do is kill the aura the wine holds

Your lips hold a fountain of love, abd I yearn to drink of

So love, ah my apologies my long gone love

Come back, come back, for my soul is parched

I will wait at my doorstep for you to hurriedly arrive

Or drink my wine by myself, pass out, in memories thereof

Let me wilt into blooms of gloom and end

I remember sowing these seeds of

Love and passion, into my own heart

As time has come now to reap what is

The rotting crops of yesteryear 

I wouldn't wonder too much for

For this shall set my soul free, adrift even

There then I shall be

Floating amongst the glittering cosmos

And wonder why I reek of woe

When this sealed cask of life cracks

And when,

The severed seams echo the voice of my undoing 

I shall glance upon my meaningless life spent 

Spent of time, will, and other obscurities

When the cracked hourglass of reckoning fades in its sounding

I shall ask you floating in the darkest abyss

Of your hatred to my existence that yearns

To be loved once

By you, and in turn by me

But maybe by then I shall feel complete

In the utter chaos of calmlessness

Of unfulfilled love and macabre longing

Eyebrows

It's often bewildering

A gentle raise of one is an alarm

When both twirl to each , a suspicion

And when they stretch and relax, 

  a smile

There is an entire language of these 

We never learnt, but unlike words

These are felt, and it emerges

Autonomous, and conveys

Sharply, the eyes may lie often

But the eyebrows seldom do

I speak in eyebrows too

And I watch them as I watch you 

Your call is important to me, please hold the line

You know what? 

The phone sort of dies often

I forgot to carry my 'Type D' plug

I prefer a grounded charger

Like my mind, that is grounded

In your thoughts, as I meander

In thoughts of finding myself

In far away lands

You know what?

I unplugged the room heater 

That was about an hour back

I forgot I feel cold, I was busy

In a trauma response of love

And the shadows of anxiety it causes

In its taunting absence thereof 

It's cold says my shivering

You know what?

Its thirty past four and I am awake

That sleep I yearn for fears fire

That is burning in my cigarette tip

It is a whirlpool of wanting to die

As painfully and unremarkably 

For these bouts of insomnia 

Will surely kill me one kf these days 

You know what?

I miss your cuddles and whispers

And those mornings when I woke up

Watching you asleep like a cloud

It is a distant memory, a beautiful past

As stark as they are and cherished

I long to be held once again in your arms

Probably then to breathe my last

Memories, Memoirs, thereof

Its a surge i curb

for i swim 

against the tide

of a fear of drowning in it

these memories are 

like seaweeds

that entangle my feet,

 underneath 

The light comes 

and fades

my eyes are 

dead until 

 -Thoughts of you emerge 

like a lava flow 

from under the sea bed

boiling 

the life around

churning

 without remorse

so i write them 

into verses

lest they claw 

my soul

not that they won't 

but it will be futile 

For the soul is clawed 

hollow

by the talons 

of your thoughts

why then even 

let them attempt further

for they are priceless

this rejection from you

is agonizing 

yet is a chance 

to know life 

its pains

thus 

I write 

to curb the surge

and then 

laugh at my plight

a man 

gone insane and over

yet still sipping insanity 

like it was a golden Whiskey

that shimmers in my glass

with six cubes of ice 

a splash of lemon

the way you like it to

when we would meet

memories, memoirs 

and my absent soul thereof 

Two months ago? when?

it was a lovely evening

say what?

an evening you say?

could that be that I missed it

dissolved it 

in my sunset gold whiskey

and drank it all away

you sat there watching?

you didn't tell me 

the light was fading,

why didn't you 

The ice melt gently 

but you made my time melt

into a puddle of astonishment

and I have nothing to show now

for that day, except now

I have this revelation

that will be a reminder 

that harrows, curls, and hurts

what evening?

when? 

Alternate version

----------------------------------

it was a lovely evening

say what?

an evening you say?

could that be 

that I missed it

dissolved it 

in my sunset gold whiskey

and drank it all away

you sat there

 watching?

you didn't 

tell me 

the light was fading,

why 

why didn't you 

As the ice 

melt gently 

you let my time melt

into a puddle 

of astonishment

you always are

a wonder to behold

not sure if I said it

enough, 

or more

I have nothing 

to show now

for that day, 

except now

I have 

this revelation

that will 

be a reminder 

that harrows

curls, 

hurts

what evening?

when? 

Flavours and Fragrances

You couldn't argue with me over colour shades

And you won most of the arguments about fragrances

A gender reversal probably was the flavour of the season

Of the togetherness that tastes a tad sour to you now

It is another flavour I cherish, without it I wouldn't know me who got left from the right

And there I go scribblings smart metaphorical paxis from what is colloquial

A poet I may yet make of myself, a seasoned one who writes of flavour

Of a sourness that remains together with my life now

 

Tu diagonal soya karta tha

Mai 1.5/5 ka single foam par so raha hoon.

Tu rota tha na

Mai rona bhool gaya hoon

Tu poochta tha na , mai kaun hoon

Mai wahi aaj khud ko pooch raha hoon

I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me

I hate these midnight calls and those insanity bound calls when I am on my holiday

I am fed up with people trying to run helter skelter, fixing infrastructure

While the ones who run it, run it to the ground

I didn't choose the IT life, the IT life chose me

I hate those creaky chairs and that wood work has borers and when termites feast

I am fed up of painting varnish on wooden table that have lost their top coat

While the ones who use it, abuse it all too often

I didn't choose the carpenter life, the carpenter life chose me

I hate those enforced aromas of spices and the carelessly tossed chillies in my rice

I am fed up of being asked to make everything taste like a plate of chashew paste

While the ones who eat it do not even understand food deserves love

I didn't choose the cook life, the cook life chose me

I hate these emergency glaring lights and those wailing sirens and crying folks in agony

I am fed up of all the pain and suffering that exists in this day and  age

While the one who made this world slowly reclines east

But I chose this nurse life, the nurse life sometimes does break me

A love letter to a few

Free verse is a bitch.

for anyone to find

to rile and rape

and no one would mind

But these heretics

These ungodly scribes

Scribble a bit

a tad too unkind

Here are my words.

If you care a read

Nothing comes of this.

just angst's dirty seed

Paradoxically Me

Here, spinning these Mani wheels 

I invoke a paradox of sorts

Of wanting to be free of longing 

and love, and all of these discomforts

Yet when I descend 

from these misty mountains of North East

I say a prayer to be remembered 

and loved by someone at least

It is an arbiter I seek to find 

one who makes my mind accept truths

of knowing these pangs shall only entwine 

and as such will never bear fruit

Yet when I look into my mind's mirror 

I find it is only my 'self' I see

This is another paradox that I conjure 

and it stays gnawing and rooted inside me

So if this has to come to pass

it has to be by me that I wilfully bind

these fallacies and these flightless thoughts

need not exist deep in my heart

So maybe in this next cycle of bead counting

I shall find peace within my mind

then maybe these paradoxes shall end 

and I will find myself to be self kind

being endness

Birth blessing

Bringing blight

Beneath Beyond

Benevolent Bane

Breaking bewilderment 

Benign bliss

Binding blame

Blinding bright

Bringing breaks

Bequeathed being

Brining beset

Birthing bereavement

Being  

Recycle those flowers

Hey love, thank you for sending those lovely flowers to compost

I am sure they will add to the growth of some evergreen mighty trees

Maybe my wishes will be a part of the shade they provide 

Should you or anyone else need to rest a while under it someday

I fret not for their dismissal, nor do they ire me or hurt me now

They belong in their place, the beautiful blue dustbin they rest in

Much like my honest soul does, for in your un-wanting

They lose their essence and beauty like I have since your parting

I would advise you to not think much of this sordid event

For it is another year, there is someone better to romance you

I confer my prayers and love upon him to keep him safe too

For you deserve to be loved in the shades of flowers new

The AI generated version is awesome:

Hey love, it's true, those flowers were so bright and fair

But now they rest in the compost bin, no longer there

To fill the air with their sweet aroma and hue

But even in death, they can still be of use

For they will feed the soil, and help new growth sprout

And maybe, just maybe, they'll bring a smile to your mouth

As you rest beneath the shade of a mighty tree

Knowing that in some small way, those flowers are still with me

So don't fret, my love, and don't be sad

For even though we're apart, we still have memories to add

To the tapestry of life that we weave as we go

And in those memories, the love we shared will always show.

ज़रा हलवा चखकर बताना तो

अरे अब तो साग भी बनाना सीख गया हूँ 

अब सोहन हलवा बनाने का भूत सवार है 

कढ़ाइयो की गर्मी, घी की महक, चूल्हे की तपिश भी 

जो दिल बहलाने के लिए बनाता था 

अब तो सिर्फ व्यंजन विधियों में दिल को सुकून है 

तुम पूछोगे अगर के घी कितना लगता है एक दिल को जलाने 

बोल दूंगा औसतन सौ किलो सोहन हलवे जितनी है शायद 

पर तुम्हे तो सिर्फ घी की उपलब्धि दिखेगी इन सब में

कढ़ाई में चलते हाथो का कोई हिसाब न लोगे तुम कभी

दिल जलाने घी के साथ पलटा पकडे हाथ भी चलता है 

चलो अब सोहन हलवा अगर बना भी लिया मैंने आज अगर 

मिठास तो नहीं होगी शक्कर की पूरी बोरी डालकर भी 

चने के आटे को जो भून मेरे कन्धों में दर्द तो ज़रूर होगा  

 घी के छींटे भी मेरे हाथों को जला जायेगी बुलबुलाकर लेकिन 

मिठास तो तुम्हारे इस हलवे को चखकर मुस्कुराने से ही आएगी। 

लिखूं तो तुम्हारी याद तनहा कर जाती है

शायद तुम नहीं समझती 

मेरे दिल के लफ़्ज़ों से बुने इन चादरों को 

वो लिपट जाना चाहती है 

तुम्हारे दिल के हसीं ख्यालों को 

जो शायद मेरे बारे में हों 

या शायद हमारे बारे में ही कभी

पर हम दोनों कहें भी, और क्या 

क्योंकि वक़्त भी नहीं मिटा पा रहा है 

हमारे दर्मिया के फासलों को |

कभी यूँही किसी दिन जब तुम से बातें होती हैं

खोकर तुम्हारे ख्यालों में जहां घूम आता हूँ मैं 

तुम्हारे ख्यालों से कह चूका हूँ मैं अक्सर 

आधी रात नहीं होता है वक़्त ऐसे पागलपन का 

तुम और तुम्हारे ख्याल कौनसा मेरा कहा मानते है 

शायद इसी मुश्किलाहट पर ही तो प्यार करता हूँ 

जो मेरे सोच पर हावी होकर मुझे तुम्हारी और खींचती है 

वरना मेरे दिल का होश खोना ना मुमकिन सा है 

अब इन फसलों की आदत सी डाल चूका हूँ मैं 

तुम्हे ही सोचकर ज़रासा रोज़ जी लेता हूँ मैं |

Last call for passengers travelling by flight 12

In my mind's airport, a wanderer hangs up her coat at the lounge washroom 

Whips out a cigarette and slits her wrist letting the blood flow into the drain

It is rather meticulously thought about by her maybe, or it was logic

But such an end in a public restroom is but such an inconvenience

The manager being called upon is visibly upset, harrowed by this

If his family wasn't enough trouble, he hid himself in work 

Now this happens to bring more unease, poor airport staff as always

The passengers are not thoughtful, they just never give them any ease

The janitor is annoyed, seething in fury over the drunk at gate 12

He has to clean up the mess some random middle aged man caused

These passengers are only adding to the unwarranted woes here

I thought the airport in my head would at least  be a peaceful home

Then as they somehow gather everyone, queued to boarding

I am happy that there shall be some restfulness at last

Yet the passengers unleash sordid torment and lashful words

They have to leave by this flight, yet they just seem to be indefinitely grounded

The AI version

In my mind's airport, the wanderer's coat is hung

In the lounge washroom, her cigarette is lit, her wrist is cut

The blood flows down the drain, a scene of inconvenience

For the staff, who must deal with this and all the passengers' nonsense

The manager is upset, the janitor seething with rage

Over the messes that these travelers seem to create

They are grounded, stuck in this airport of the mind

Where peace and rest are hard to find

But still they board the plane, with sordid words and bitter complaints

Leaving behind the chaos, the blood, and the stains

I hope that wherever they are going, they find some peace at last

And leave the airport of the mind, with all its troubles in the past.