Cleaning up

Cleaning up always starts with a mess
So many silent defeats to bear
Before the soul shrugs off mind
Clinging to her knees!
And that moment is not propelling
It reverts back sometimes
Too hot a day or a sudden urge
To call a friend who is far away :)
But when the nagging from the inside
Overpowers temptation
It all starts over again.
Folding, washing, putting away
Pairing lonely socks after days
Of wearing mismatched couples
Under an unsuspecting pair of pants
Putting books in boxes
(After losing yourself in each one of them
For a time too long to make up for)
It is always a balance between
Distractions and Duties
Impulses and Plans
Dreams and Reality

Cleaning up is never easy
A house or a mind, it is equally difficult!

Action and reaction

What i do is not who I am
For then I could be
All the triumphs and failures
In their pride and humility

What i do changes shadows
As the Sun makes His round
So it could seem like a tall black cloud
But it will vanish by sundown

What i do, is not always a clay pot
But sometimes it is done like a River
Where rivulets of Time, Place and Change
Give it an uncertain Forever

What i do, is not always liked
Not even by the hands that make it
But then even Action has a breath of her own
And I cannot forsake it!

i will do a lot of things
For as long as I can be
But I promise to give up all the applause
As long as what i do is not Me.

Lab Poetry

Sometimes thoughts vaporize
As words under the gentle
And sometimes not so gentle
Heating of anxiety.

But sometimes,
They need to be burnt.
With silence.

Both lead to the same end.
Something that cannot be burnt
Or vaporized!

Song of Men (and Women)

He says He likes the one
Who does not grieve
Who treats Sadness and Joy alike
Undisturbed by Anger, Jealousy
And Envy alike.

But then what about
The beauty of Sorrow?
Those tired eyes after
A long torrent of tears?
Sitting by the window
With a cup of hot tea
And realizing that a
Few years down the line
This would not hurt as much
As it does now.

And what about all the Revolutions,
That Anger triggers inside?
Changes the entire face
Of even an insignificant existence?
And what about all his feathers?
Of Shame, Pride and Longing
They are heavy to carry around
But magnificent when he opens them all
On the day it rains Humiliation!

Who would then fall in Love
With all their heart and be turned down
Just to turn it into a poem?
Who would write with their tears?
Who would read with a sigh?

These circles of Sorrow
Of being reborn again and again
All in one life, have their own little Book.
That is being written and said in parts
And not written and unsaid in others
Forgotten, suppressed, abused, exploited
Debated across boundaries of Cultures
This is the Song of Men (and Women).

Soul Window

The torrent has passed

And I am calm, lying on my bed

Watching the window with half-open blinds

From where the sun sends

His noble fingers inside

In slanting rays

Full of otherwise invisible dust

My soul perched on top of the blind

Free from the shackles of a nagging mind

Innocently wrapped in the morning light!

I pinch my calm to see if I let go

Maybe this is some placebo

Of  all the efforts, so well-prepared

Talking to me on their deathbed?

I wanted this for a long time

This calm, this utterly empty mind

All of a sudden these morning rays

Fill my eyes with an empty gaze

I will see this window everyday

And I can even see it at the same time

God knows how many more will open!

But this window, the way it is today

Can only be once in my lifetime.

Just like the place you cannot go to

All the time, so you take it with you

Everywhere.

There is only one window

That opens into your soul.

And then what is left 

Is a lifetime of  the same memory. :)

Freedom

How will it happen?
Would the last breath
Just leave gracefully
Gathering all her robes
And looking around
One last time
At the place that she
Went in and out for
All these years?

The beautiful body
That wore silver anklets
And a velvet blouse
That shivered in the
Dew-kissed cold
Of a sun-kissed town
The hands that wrote
Cooked and cared
The fingers that played
The violin and turned
Pages of poetry books
The slim waistline
Going broader at times
And slimmer again
Long hair bejeweled
With gardenia
So many sighs passed that chest
So many tears passed those eyes
The little breaths
that choked mid-sentence
And gave in, into a
Speechless teary silence
The blushing in love
And flushing in anger
Years of reading
For the poor tired eyes
Ghost stories told
Yet so many ghosts untold
Lurk around in this moment
Let them out.

They are all to be left
For the ones behind
To be given labels
Because the fight goes on
For all the others.
You are Free.

Is it an experience?
How many have you had
When that breath was still within?
The first kiss.
The first slap
Across your face.
The first few rupees
That you earned on your own.
The first humiliation.
And the first redemption.
Birth. Now this.

The beauty is that it
Cannot be told.
It cannot be written down.
Maybe, not even remembered.
As I analyze yours
I look forward to mine.

Journey of Emptiness

Sometimes we have empty heads

And sometimes empty bellies instead

So much culture and so much art

To fill the insatiable empty heart!

It takes turns too, little bastard!

For when I try and fill up my head

I find it racing into my heart

And hunger strikes, when it races ahead!

In the fleeting moments of satisfaction

When I lie around, a little overfed

All these thoughts of overeating

Make it go back into my head!

It has to be somewhere at all times

Like a counter weight(lessness) 

Takes a while before you know

All the moods of Emptiness

When you make it happen

It is meditation, Depression,

When it comes on its own

Lack of solitude when surrounded

And a silent yearning when alone!

A married man's mistress 

And a bachelor's wife!

It is all that is not 

a part of your life. :)