Tuesday, June 05, 2012

Just a dream..

There was a huge hall littered with lilliputian wooden chairs arranged in pairs where presumably we were supposed to have a ‘joint class’. I enter this hall with a huge school-bag dangling on one side. I am really small and my face is beaming. I look for the niche where my class is seated and try to invest myself somewhere only to be told that the place is ‘taken’ and directed elsewhere. To my utter amazement all chairs are either occupied or reserved for ‘friends’ and I have nowhere to lay my burden. Exasperated I tumble to the other end where other ‘classes’ are installed but I get no room there also. I am zigzagging between the spaces of eternal rows of little benches from one to the other end and there is no one willing to give me a seat hence I plummet on the floor with exhaustion.

I decide mentally that I’ll sit on floor since no one wants me. I drop my head in silence to rest and they all stare as if am a pariah!  Finally the head-boy and the head-girl approach me. They are about double my size (seniors)! The guy leans over and bellows why am I perched there ergo I try to explain that there is no vacant spot. He is fiendish, shaking my shoulders, almost molesting me, so I break into tears. Now the head-girl steps in and orders him to back off. She literally lifts me off the floor and I hug her sobbing. She asks me gently if I would like some candy. I tell her I have no money but she smiles and we walk towards the candy-shop. All through the way I tell her how I helped so and so with their homework, someone I’d lend my pencil, another one I’d given a ride in my car and so and so forth but none of them bother to give me a seat while she keeps swaying her head.

I return to the hall loaded with candies and my face smeared with chocolate and tears. The girl tells me to wait in a nook and walks off to talk to the teachers. She returns with one who looks so much like Sister Lily. (Sister Lily was my favorite teacher in primary school, perhaps the only one then, who loved me dearly.) She wasn’t dressed like a nun rather she was draped in a lovely colorful saree and had flowers in her hair. She informs me that they will give me a special seat with velvet cover and cushions. A chair good enough to fit 4 or 5 but I shall sit there alone and I can choose where I want it to be positioned. I point my little finger in the direction of a humble corner; my royal settee, a shimmering red, with peacocks painted over, is brought in, and ensconced.

Then again others stare however the glances are envious, as I stroll like a queen toward my royal recliner still crying, laden with candies. Someone places my schoolbag beside the couch and before I could plop down.. I woke up..

I awoke in tears and could sleep no more..

The dusk seemed to clear around me and the sounds of night began to fade in their poignant evocation of memory and hope. The past and the present appeared to be one in that strange dream; yet it is not so much a dream as life itself, a frigid reality.

pS - I dreamed this dream today... between 3-5 am ! :)


Saturday, May 07, 2011

the failed poet

In a breathless summer afternoon
an implacable sun beneath which
memories seem to wilt
emanating, like some august blossoms
ocher influences, which make the
brain wade and heart wane-
an epical malaria, distinct, as I
think, from roseate melodies,
those murmuring utterances
which I had spotted in
musty springs and winters
of a century ago.

The poet, a vile thing,
wretched and wicked slave of words,
an instrument not feigned
by human genius, but
the procreation of body, who,
instead of affecting the soul,
merely rouses
the debris of nature, she
counterfeits sun-stroked nature
eulogizing cinnabar summer,
her friends praise her effort
she feels summer again—

she destroys the poem.


Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Duets - revisited

yearning for
freedom beyond
the covers of
old impossible
magic of
darkening skies,
quixotic emotions
stirred in
low furtive talks
without words,

beside broken
mirrors of
elegiac future
striving through
restraints of
puerile mind
over prurient senses

a breeze carries
febrile perfumes
of crushed roses
faraway songs
agate gleams
plays over
smooth lustrous
crimson of
parted lips,

star powdered
callous vault of
hushed night
we understand
what happiness is -
you and I
had played on love;
now love begins
to play on us.



click on the image ... ......
"I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
hey'd banish us, you know." ED



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