INK-STAINED SOUL

GHAZAL

2011-10-26T22:35:00.000+05:30

Let us go away, you and I,
Far away from the spying sky.

Here stars and jasmines bloom at night,
But blood streams from the sighing sky.

Love must waft in like evening breeze,
Must burst like rain from heaving sky.

I need no adornment but you-
And stars plucked from the dazzling sky.

Your love finds me wherever I hide,
Even underneath the sprawling sky.

Cut Off

2011-08-14T16:25:00.000+05:30

' As flies to wanton boys, so are we to the gods,

they kill us for their sport.'

His voice I often lost on the phone-

Poor network.

Disconnect...

Re-dial...

Diallling...

How would you even know

if I die, he used to jest,

I'd reply with silence,

It silenced him for the moment;

Maybe the gods liked his joke

a tad too much-

Those whom the gods love die young.

We hanker to buy

with bleeding bits of the heart,

The eau de cologne of love:

Sometimes so costly

it leaves you with no heart at all,

Just a bloody pulsating void,

Like the bloody silence

at his end when I said

"I love you";

And then, (finally),

"I love you too, three, four, five..."

He loved his bike.

Faster, faster, Death cheered him on;

Splattered in his blood he lay

under the rear wheels of a lorry.

School kids race in the rain,

Splashing mud on me.

As he lay dying on the hot asphalt

and breathed his last,

I never knew.

As they lowered him into his grave

and threw earth over his dreams,

I never knew.

Dust to dust returneth;

I to him.

Dial...

Dialling...

Beep beep beep.

Re-dial...

Switched off...

Cannot be reached...

Out of coverage area...

Does not exist.

On the Ferris Wheel

2011-03-28T23:08:00.000+05:30

We rise higher and higher,
Green canopies ramble
beneath us;
Wet petals sleep on rainy sidewalks-
Windblown lilac dreams gently
heaving with teary sighs.
Bright lights, bright awnings,
Bright nameless faces
Peer up at us.
City lights of sleepless nights,
An unknowing faraway glimmer,
Unfeeling, like the blinking stars overhead.

Up and down, up and down,
Faster and faster, we move,
Slicing through the dark,
Brushing past branches,
The cool air rushing into
the vortex of my being-
A vortex that sucks in
You, Me and everything else.

We move in circles, so does life....
Or does it? Some points of beginning
can never be returned to,
Some trajectories, once distorted,
can never be retraced.
Some paths, once lost,
are lost forever;
You see, some circles are never finished.

Some things are just not meant to be:
Some things like You and Me.

Home lies somewhere there,
Home sweet home, shrouded with innocence,
Somewhere there, at an unreachable distance.

We swing up, and swoop down
Like eagles to prey on
Life, that crawls along below;
And that's all that's meant to be,
as we step out, laughing-
God knows why....

Translating Love

2010-11-29T21:07:00.002+05:30

The warmth of your embrace
Into which I can melt,
Like the red of sunset
Bleeding into the gold,
The song of the stars
Blending with the midnight quiet,
Does it need translation, my love?

The way my head touches your heart
When I lean into you,
The perfect height to listen
To your throbbing symphony,
And for your lips to ride my brows,
Drink the dew in my eyes,
Does it need translation, my love?

The fire of your kiss
That sets me ablaze,
The tenderness of your touch-
Honey running down my skin;
The sweet nothings you whisper in my ears
While you braid my hair with stars
Plucked from the sky,
And drench me in your love's endless rain;
The pain when we pine
For each other across the miles,
The spring in our souls
When together we are,
Do they need translation, my love?

The way your fingers entwine mine,
And pass on the dreams
From your blood to mine,
The way our eyes seek each other
Amid thronging thousands,
And we come to rest
In our love's green pasture
After weary wanderings;
The way you weave
Of the finest texture,
A blanket of love that warms me
Even in the deepest chill,
Do they need translation, my love?

A Try at Translation

2010-11-28T20:19:00.000+05:30

The song 'Ithaloornnu veena panineer dalangal', from the classic Blessy film 'Thanmathra' (released in 2005) that tells the poignant tale of an Alzheimer's patient, is one of the most beautiful Malayalam songs I ever heard. I am struck by its sheer poetry every time I listen to it. Hats off to Kaithapram mash for the amazing lyrics. Given below is my humble attempt at translating the song. Hope all of its beauty is not 'lost in translation'. :)

Like fallen rose petals joining back together
And humming in tune,
The fair moon blooms in my palm like a flower,
A new song arises from these tear-drained silences.

Even the sun that everyday comes
To reign during the day
Descends the steps at midnight
And vanishes.

Don't cry, my beloved,
Don't shed tears,
The sun will come again
At dawn to this sky.

Arms of the wet darkness
Full of lightning bangles,
Rain drops casting pearls on the lotus leaf;
Just a second to remember,
An age to cherish in the heart.

Even this memory's a celebration
Life's a song.

At Peacock Lake

2010-08-25T13:27:00.002+05:30

The glassy blue of the fallen sky,
Creased with myriad ripples
That bound forth
To the waiting arms of the shore,
Like little children to their mothers,
Singing of peacocks and wild winds
That make the reeds, thickly spread
By the water's edge,
Dance in beauteous glee-
A wave of gold-tipped green.

And into my heart ecstasy drips,
Till I can swim in it-
Lake of bliss.

Peacock Lake is one of the loveliest and most popular hotspots in our campus and obviously, I am not its only fan. You might also like to see my friend Lipin's brief take on it . He has also put up a snap of the lake.

AMBIVALENCE

2010-08-18T17:38:00.001+05:30

Your black is my white,
Your blue is my red;
The cold knifes through me
And lays me dead,
In a grave where
Love blossoms
In bloody trails.
You killed me
The day you embraced me,
Even as an unknown part of me
Leapt to life in your arms.
In your life, I find death,
In your death, I find life;
And yet without you, my deadly beloved,
An I-less I am I.

NIGHT

2010-08-05T11:42:00.004+05:30

The night speaks
In a thousand tongues
I cannot discern,
Rising above the cries of the crickets-
Midnight's minstrels.
Pale blue melting around
Feathery canopies reaching
For a trembling dawn.
Muted roars pulsating
In the night breeze
Charged with the cold
And peacock squawks.
And the swarthy goddess
Lets down her hair
And dances in a frenzy,
Punctuated with laughter
In a tongue I recognize-
Cold, hard, mirthless mockery.

P.S. : Before you get bothered, let me assure you- yes, I did mean peacock squawks.The Hyderabad Central University campus (where I am presently) abounds with peacocks. Peacock cries also function as the rooster's "clarion call" here! And if you have been reading my blog regularly (fat chance there, I know! :D), you will already be aware of my fixation with everything about the night. One of the best things about HCU, I feel, is that it's safe to roam about within the vast (2800 acres) campus even late at night. This poem seeped into my mind on a solitary late night ride back to my hostel from the library. And this also happens to be my first post after landing in HCU. Life is quite hectic here (and fun too), but I'll try to find the time to update this space regularly and visit ur blogs too. Hope you are all doing fine. Take care. C ya! :)

Fireflies at Night

2010-06-29T19:48:00.002+05:30

Fairylights strung
on the night
on invisible wires,
Softly flaming winking fires.

Stars fallen from the sky,
yellow and ripe;
Entangled in black leaves
on black boughs.

A glittering crown
adorning the night's frown.

Confessions of a Nocturnal Creature

2010-06-25T12:51:00.009+05:30

I have been a night bird for as long as I can remember. I have a nocturnally programmed biological clock- I simply absolutely hate getting up early in the morning and I don’t mind staying up at night till even the crack of dawn. Even as a kid at school, I used to prefer studying late at night. Evenings were kept aside for games, the telly, updating my mom on all the happenings at school, fighting with bro, romping with my cats etc. and I would hit my books only after dinner. Finishing homeworks and assignments, studying for test papers etc. happened in the late hours of the night and sometimes continued into the wee hours of the morning. And then the next morning, I would sleep in for as long as possible, which equated to one hour before it was time for the school bus. Holidays gave me the sumptuous luxury of curling up with a book in bed and staying up until I had finished reading it and then sleeping until the sun was way up in the sky and I was declared a disgrace to girlhood by my irate mother banging away on my door!

This scenario continues, more or less unchanged, even now. If it’s not books that keep me up at night, it might be the net or a phone call or an extended text conversation or listening to music on my mp3 player or gazing at the stars on my terrace or just my mind rambling in a labyrinth of thoughts. My average bedtime is midnight and average wake-up time 7 am. My sleep hours sometimes get cut down drastically, to just around a couple of hours, especially when exams are round the corner or some ‘emergency’, ahem, that comes under the heading ‘everyday crisis of an urban Indian youngster’, crops up at night and dealing with it robs me of my precious sleep, and the next day is a working day at college.

My late-night (and late-morning) timings draw raised eyebrows- in wonder, astonishment, bewilderment or disapproval, the last mostly from aghast relatives- from all except my very close friends who have come to realize and accept over time that my ‘day’ begins around 10 at night. And that the sun usually rises for me not before 8 am- and since college is over for now, the sunrise is delayed by at least an hour or two for me…sometimes, the sun, ever the courteous gentleman, does not come knocking on my dreams till noon!

There is something about the night that fascinates me. I love the silence, the stillness, the cool night breeze, the rich creamy darkness, the comforting solitude. I love listening to the cicadas, the rustle of leaves, the flapping of bats’ wings, the distant strains of songs from temple carnivals somewhere. I love gazing at the star-spangled night sky, searching for familiar faces among the twinkling crowds, being bathed in silver moonlight. I love the ethereal fragrance of jasmine buds blooming at night. I love listening to the even breathing of my parents in the adjacent room, to the reassuring rise and fall of their unconditional love for me. I love the cosy feeling of snuggling in bed with a favourite book and getting lost in the words while the world sleeps. I love the way my thoughts resound with incredible clarity in the quietude of night and sediment within me. Well, there is another side too to this- comforting solitude can sometimes morph into terrifying loneliness; thoughts can sometimes resound too loudly for one’s liking, can push you off the cliff into yawning valleys of your deepest darkest fears that are usually shrouded by sunlight. Yes, these may happen. But you cannot deny the eternal awe-inspiring splendour of the rolling blue ocean just because it turns stormy and violent and takes lives at times, can you?

I have often felt that the city takes on a different persona at night- something like a split personality, maybe? It’s definitely not the same staid city I encounter at daytime that I see after the sun has set. There is a different energy pumping in the night air, flashing off the neon billboards and brightly lit shop windows, throbbing in the sights and sounds of night life- the music wafting out of restaurants, omelettes or chicken sizzling in the frying pan in ‘thattukadas’ (roadside eateries that open in the evening and function all through the night), the phosphorescent halo of street lights and the grey roads dappled with their yellowish pools of light, the multi-coloured lights that gleam on dark hazy outlines of buildings far far away, and if it’s not too late at night, the vehicle headlights that mill the streets like an invading army. I can never have enough of these vignettes of night life and that’s why I stare out the car window like an excited eight-year-old, much to the amusement of the rest of my family, whenever we are driving back home at night after an outing. Not to mention the exhilarating sensation of feeling the cool wind in my hair. I am not speed-crazy in the least, but I have to admit there’s nothing to beat the revitalizing, elevating, out-of-the-world feeling of whizzing away on a two-wheeler through a deserted, smooth, pothole-less, well-tarred stretch with the night air rushing through your hair and freezing your cheeks. It’s one of those experiences, like the divine smell that steams up when the first summer shower kisses the parched earth, that transport you out of your mundane everyday existence to heights of unparalleled unreasoning bliss.

Night life, however, is still the prerogative of males in my hometown Trivandrum, and throughout Kerala, I believe. You hardly find any women out at night, unless accompanied by their husbands or fathers. My own taste of it was always with my Dad. Not that I have a problem with that, but I rue the fact that even in this twenty first century, women cannot be guaranteed safety at all times. There was this short film festival here a few weeks back, to which I had taken a delegate pass. I could not watch a single film that was screened in the evening and hence missed out on some of the best entries at the fest, all because my girl friends and I had to get home by 5-6 in the evening. Now isn’t that just so unfair?! These are the times when I seriously wish I were a guy- I envy the freedom and independence that they have!

Well, there are friends and well-wishers who repeatedly advise me to change my timings. They are the early-morning birds- who supposedly “catch the worm”. They tell me that I will be able to do my work more efficiently early in the morning since the body is recharged and the brain refreshed after a good sleep. I can understand the logic of their argument but, unfortunately, it has never worked out that way for me in practice. I have tried going to sleep by 10 and getting up at dawn and valiantly sitting down at my desk to study, ‘recharged and refreshed’. But I don’t know how or when or why, I find myself back in bed and sleeping away to glory in less than half an hour! Two or three failed attempts later, I gave up and went back to my nocturnal schedule, because that’s what works best for me. I don’t mean to say I will never ever change my routine, I know I may have to sooner or later. But until then, I’m perfectly happy with things the way they are, with my nocturnal self.

Yours truly,
Miss Owl

A Lament

2010-06-16T17:12:00.002+05:30

You tell me not to mourn

The passing of the morn;

That brighter dawns

Of brighter morrows

Hover in the east,

That similar gilted sunshine

Still shall streak my life.

Oh, can't you see,

I cry for these moments

That slip from my hands

Like grains of sand,

The harder I try to hold on,

Not because I don't know

The shores still stretch on;

Not because I fear

There shall no more be light.

It's just that I know

The sunshine shall never again be the same-

You are wrong there-

It may be brighter

Or duskier,

But it can never ever be the same.

The cadences of our laughter,

The notes of our song,

Shall never be the very same;

No, the sunshine shall never

Be just this bright again.

And that's why I ache

As these moments march fast

To the twilit past-

Memories that fade like the hues of sunset.

That's why I wish,

Futile though it be,

To slow down their procession

To Eternal Nothingness;

Or better still, sprinkle on them stillness.

For, once gone, I know,

They are forever lost-

Irretrievably lost.

Irreplaceably lost.

Because the sunshine shall never

Be just this bright again.

From the Window Seat

2010-06-10T22:55:00.002+05:30

Lakes of molten steel

Chug past my sad twilit eyes

And stream down my cheeks.

Re-birth

2010-06-02T02:21:00.005+05:30

I am born anew

From the offal of a past

Butchered by Fate's hands.

The Gul Mohur in Full Bloom

2010-05-19T03:43:00.001+05:30

The flaming brilliance

Seeps through my eyes,

Into my soul

And paints it red-

Leaving me entranced.

This sublime splendour

Holding me spellbound

This masterpiece with perfection wound;

Immortality spilled

Onto this mortal world.

Were I to squeeze out

All of my heart's blood,

Blend it with gold,

Drench with a creative flood-

Could I this grandeur

Ever recreate?

Can man this glory

Ever emulate?

HIS MUSIC AND MY POETRY

2010-04-28T17:40:00.004+05:30

My words fell in love

With his music:

Head-over-heels in love.

Like the golden rain from above

That sprouts the seeds in my loamy lands,

To flourish in lush black

On stark white fields,

His music let my poetry

Out of the cage,

And together they flew,

Into the eternal blue;

Love knows no season, no age.

My words danced in joy

At the footfall of his voice,

They trembled at its silken touch;

My lines to life sprang

When he unknowing sang,

My poetry that much

Did his music love.

A beautiful rhapsody

With no beginning, no end-

With him around,

Life was ever a song;

A happy couple they were,

His music and my poetry;

And though I knew

It couldn’t last long,

While it did, they truly loved,

His music and my poetry.

Silence at Supper

2010-04-12T18:57:00.001+05:30

Of late, she noticed,

He always complained:

She was either

Too sweet,

Or too sour;

Too spicy,

Or too bland;

Too dry,

Or too greasy;

Too sharp,

Or too salty;

Too hot,

Or too cold;

Too raw,

Or over-cooked;

Too heavy,

Or too light;

She never was

Just right.

And now he sat

Staring at the soup

She'd served;

Staring beyond the bowl,

Beyond the room,

Beyond their home,

Beyond her.

"Is the salt right?"

She asked quietly.

"Yea, just right,"

He mumbled,

Spooning it up,

His eyes still

On the just-right soup-

Staring beyond the bowl,

Beyond the room,

Beyond their home,

Beyond her.

And she knew why

She never was

Just right.

Outside,

She saw night fall,

Fast and heavy,

Like the silence

Inside.

Thus sat the two,

Three shadows

Danced on the wall.

TO WHERE YOU ARE

2010-03-25T19:50:00.001+05:30

Artist : Josh Groban

Lyrics: Linda Thomson

Music: Richard Marx

A song that changed my life forever. . . .

Who can say for certain?

Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memories so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be?
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are mine

Forever love

Watching me from up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave

Fly me up to where you are

Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

CARROT HALWA

2010-01-16T21:59:00.003+05:30

Maya felt a sense of quiet contentment as she watched the grated carrots bobbing gently in the simmering milk. So far, everything had gone without a hitch. She glanced at the recipe book propped by the gas stove and proceeded to meticulously execute the next instruction: Bring the flame to high heat, add sugar and ghee and stir well till the ghee shows separately.

“So you’re making carrot halwa?” Maya turned sharply on hearing her mother-in-law’s voice, her bliss fading instantly. Her spirits sank further as she saw that her mother-in-law was accompanied by old Mrs. Diwakar from next door, the official gossip-monger of Kairali Lane where they lived.

“Er, yes,” said Maya, making a brave attempt to inject cheer into her tone. “I thought I’d give you all a surprise this evening!”

“Ah, what a good daughter-in-law you have, Mrs. Varma!” Mrs. Diwakar piped in. “Now my daughter-in-law…”, and she plunged into a litany of her daughter-in-law’s innumerable flaws and follies, which Mrs. Varma listened to with apparent interest.

But Maya knew pretty well that her mother-in-law was far from pleased. Though she’d been married just three months, she had already discovered that her mother-in-law, a very amiable woman in every other way, resented anyone encroaching upon her kingdom, the kitchen. Not that Maya minded… most of her culinary adventures, right from the time when at the age of twelve, she added salt to a pudding, mistaking it to be sugar, had been absolute fiascos. And now that she worked as a teacher in a high school, she had enough and more of uncorrected test papers, work sheets and assignment books to keep her busy all evening after school, and was quite happy to let her mother-in-law bask in stardom in the kitchen while she enacted minor roles like chopping the vegetables or helping her clean up after dinner. She would often watch in quiet amusement as her mother-in-law bustled around at meal-time, the joy and pride evident on her face as her son asked for a second helping or made a casual comment on her pickle’s great taste.

However, even the most modern and liberal-minded woman will acknowledge that a delicious dish is the easiest way to a husband’s heart and this realization is all the more prominent in young, newly-wed wives. It was precisely this reason that had spurred Maya to venture into the kitchen that Saturday, after gleaning from her husband that carrot halwa was his favourite dish. She hadn’t fancied seeking help from her mother-in-law who was obviously over-possessive of her culinary crown, and decided to rely on her own intuition and the recipe book.

“Rahul just loves my carrot halwa!” Mrs. Varma suddenly declared, her bosom swelling with pride and she looked at Maya with what was unmistakable rivalry in her eyes. Her mother-in-law’s caustic look made her feel all the more uneasy and she started stirring with greater vigour. Even as the older ladies immersed themselves in small talk and gossip, Maya could feel her mother-in-law’s eyes constantly following her as she went about her work.

In a short while, the carrot halwa was ready, looking enticing with the almond and cashew garnishing. With great trepidation, Maya took a spoonful, hoping for the best. Bitter disappointment engulfed her like a tsunami wave as she found that her carrot halwa was far from perfect- it was too greasy and had a sickeningly saccharine taste. She suddenly became aware of the two pairs of curiously watching eyes and quickly cleared her face of all expression.

It was at this juncture, as Maya stood with the bowl of carrot halwa in her hand, struggling to maintain a poker face, that Rahul entered the scene. “Hello everybody!” he said cheerfully as he strode into the kitchen, still in his office suit. “For once, my boss didn’t want me to work overtime!”

Suddenly, he saw the bowl of carrot halwa in his wife’s hands. “Wow! Carrot halwa!” he exclaimed in great surprise and delight. “I did smell something nice as I entered the house!”

“Maya wanted to give you a surprise,” Mrs. Varma explained, a rather sarcastic edge to her voice.

“Great!” Rahul beamed. “I am absolutely famished!”

“No! wait…” Maya tried to protest but Rahul had already snatched the bowl from her and taken a spoonful.

Maya looked away, not having the strength to watch her husband’s far-from-flattering reaction, her mother-in-law’s subsequent gloating expression…. Her anguish deepened as she thought of Mrs. Diwakar, who could be trusted to see that the news of the tragedy of her carrot halwa spread like wildfire in the lane and became the hot topic for gossip among the women of the colony. And she earnestly wished that the earth would open up and swallow her as she stared intently at the tiled kitchen counter, her cheeks crimson at the thought of the imminent humiliation. The two older women were watching Rahul expectantly, like eager onlookers awaiting a judge’s verdict.

“Mmmm….delicious!” Maya could hardly believe her ears as she heard her husband’s spirited response. She looked up instantly, genuine astonishment replacing the downcast expression in her eyes. Rahul’s face was a picture of pure relish! She looked on in bewilderment as he greedily dug the spoon into the carrot halwa again and again…and again- until there wasn’t even a speck left to bear testimony to her culinary disaster!

“Oh no!” Rahul suddenly cried remorsefully. “What a pig I am! I didn’t leave any for you all!”

“No matter, son,” said Mrs. Diwakar. “I’ve just had my tea and anyway, my doctor has advised me off all sweets and savouries.”

Presently, Mrs. Diwakar, rather bored by this tame and uninteresting conclusion to the domestic episode, went out to inspect the banana saplings in the backyard and Mrs. Varma followed her, looking deeply disappointed. As soon as they were out of sight, Rahul turned to his wife and gave her a conspiratorial wink, grinning in the boyish way she liked so much. A sudden deluge of love and gratitude washed away all the words that she had wanted to say and all she could do was smile back. But she knew he understood. As Rahul left to change his clothes and take a shower, Maya felt her eyes misting over.... She knew she had married a special man.

Twilight

2009-12-08T23:18:00.008+05:30

I have done a guest post on my twin's blog as part of his 100th post celebrations...actually, mine was the 100th one!:)This is also the poem which I wrote in half an hour for the poetry competition at the South Zone Inter University Youth Festival(the topic was 'old age') and it got me the 2nd prize. You can view it here

FEMINISM

2009-11-17T23:00:00.003+05:30

"I am a feminist," she said, gazing intently at the pastel blue wallpaper.

"So...you hate men?" He had propped himself up by the elbow and was staring incredulously at her.

"No!" she protested. "It’s not like that! Feminism is not about hating men. It means, it means-"

But she never got to explain to him what feminism meant. For even as she was searching for the words to make him understand, he had leaned over and sealed her lips with a kiss.

"I don’t know what feminism is," he whispered hoarsely, "and I don’t care. But I know you’re female...." His lips were now travelling down her neck and over her bare breasts. "And I know you’re feminine...." He sighed and let his head rest on her chest, listening contentedly to the rhythm of her heart, as she tenderly tousled his hair the way she knew he could never have enough of.

"Yes, yes," she muttered, totally confused. "But feminism doesn’t mean not being fem-" Her words were cut short as his smiling deep brown eyes pierced hers and she got crushed in a tight embrace.

"I love you, baby," he murmured as he rolled over on his side and pressed her hand to his lips.

"I love you too," she heard herself say. And she didn’t know why, but at that moment, as she watched him get out of bed to shower and get ready for work, she felt like laughing, sobbing and puking, all at once.

A SONG OF MOURNING

2009-10-22T23:23:00.005+05:30

Not long ago was the earth

An abode beauteous,

Carpeted by the velvet green,

Roofed by the halcyon blue;

And ribboned by babbling brooks

Of a metallic sheen.

Gnarled giants stood patient guard-

Wizened gentleness cast in

Frames stout and hard,

Peering at the cheerful white clouds

Scurrying across the azure above.

The giants laughed at the pranks

Of the frolicking streams,

As they wound by their knotty feet

On their journey to the lushest leas.

The clouds loved the leafy fragrance

Of the canopies that stroked them,

And at times, their woes they wept out

Against the loving brown bosoms.

Confided the winds in these soothing giants

And left with souls purged

Of the burning angst.

Birds perched on the giants’ arms

And sang to them mellifluous strains,

While the giants smiled and swayed

In rhythmic beat, their emerald heads.

But invaded into this paradise

The ruthless villain Man-

With hard glittering eyes

Full of avarice and lies,

Carrying razor-like smiles,

And something shiny besides.

The cold metal glistened in the sun,

Held in Man’s brutal clasp;

With stony swipes they fell

On the bewildered hapless giants,

Whose limbs they hacked,

Whose hearts they pierced,

And left lying dead

In a pool of betrayed blood.

The whole land went into mourning

Of their beloved giants;

The velvet carpets tore and smudged,

The halcyon blue paled into ugly grey.

No more did the birds sing,

No more did the winds sigh,

No more did the brooks laugh,

No more did the clouds cry,

No more, no more....

And where once resounded

The lovely dance beats of life,

Echoed the sinister silence of death,

Sharpened by metallic silver blades.

LONELY SKIES

2009-10-10T16:09:00.003+05:30

Each shimmering star,
A soul shivering
In the loveless cold-
Broken hearts scattered
Across a murky blue reality,
Trembling with untold grief
Amidst the unknowing,
Unfeeling, steady moonshine.

A Woman's Love

2009-07-29T02:22:00.002+05:30

A woman’s love runs deeper

Than the springs of sorrow

That crisscross life;

A woman’s love is purer

Than the first snow that swathes

The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free

As the doves that wing

The cerulean dome;

A woman’s love is gentle

As the happy breath

Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist

That swirls in a vale astray;

A woman’s love is wild,

Like a forest fire

On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,

Swells like the tide

On a full moon night,

And engulfs her lover

In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,

Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,

Stills the roaring seas;

And spawns hurt that smoulders

In her grave.

GARBAGE

2009-07-21T23:31:00.001+05:30

Here, hold my heart,

I’m much better off

Without this throbbing pain,

Without this need to love and to feel,

To laugh and to bleed.

Here, take my heart;

I’m much better off

In a static scorching summer

Sans emotion and all;

The colourful spring

Of blossom and birdsong,

Leads but to a melancholy autumn

Of smiles turning yellow and brown,

And falling off my life

With hardly a sound-

Like the tears from my eyes,

And ending in a frozen winter

Of perennial pain.

Here, hold my heart,

Please take it and leave,

And just dump it

In the nearest trash bin

You find, thank you.

FINE PRINT

2009-07-03T23:26:00.000+05:30

This love has grown mouldy,
Left neglected in the monsoon,
Got rusty with disuse.
Words tender and true at the time,
With stony silence now turned stale-
Our perfect symphony
Long decayed into cacophony,
Memories of Heaven before Hell do pale...
Worm-eaten dreams and cankerous vows-
So much for our garden-fresh love!

Delivered in a bright blue carton,
Bought at an exorbitant price,
From that cheerful chubby lad
In the store down the street;
Sigh! Our hard-earned time
Gone down the drain!

"Sorry, madam, I’m afraid nothing
Can be done about it," said the lad
Politely, cheerful as ever,
When the unsatisfactory product
I thrust on the counter.
"The affection, I agree, has curdled,
The happiness has rotten, the memories mouldy;
But the pain, the hurt, the bleeding wound,
Are still so fresh, as we promised."

Cursing myself, I returned dejected-
I should have read the fine print
On that bright blue carton
Of garden-fresh love.

Rainy Tales

2009-06-18T23:00:00.000+05:30

In the beginning,
Puddles of joy,
Paper boats and splashed laughter,
Joyous drenchings, Mama’s scoldings,
Wet classrooms with the wet-sock-stink,
And along muddy ways, the great
Umbrella chase, in spirits
Undampened by the gale.

Later, silver dreams by a window sill,
With a steaming cup of coffee,
Watching the silver tassels
Tumbling from a dark saree
Draped across a swarthy sky;
And pitter-patter lullabies-
Or whispered sweet nothings???
Rainy smiles on rainy nights....

And now... soulful strains
Of a melancholy mood,
A rhythmic recital
Of ineffable loss,
Plaintive notes arising
From sunny days of yore;
Tears streaming down the window pane-
My own or the weeping sky’s???

MACHINE

2009-06-05T19:44:00.000+05:30

Wish I could delete
The frozen pain,
The aching silence;
Empty the recycle bin
And lose them forever.

Wish I could copy-paste
The good old days,
Over and over again
In place of this numb pain.

Wish I could undo the mistakes,
Start over anew,
And when the hurt
Makes my life hang,
Instantly shut down and
Restart afresh.

And when it all gets too much,
I could just crash.

Hi All !!!

2009-04-17T14:48:00.000+05:30

I am so sorry i haven't been active in the blog world for quite some time now. I have been neither updating my blog nor visiting yours. It's because of my exams. I'll get back into the groove once my exams are over( which will be some time in May). Please do bear with me until then.

Bye. And take care

FUNERAL OF A DREAM

2009-02-24T21:09:00.000+05:30

Mourn I today
The death of a dream:
Being cremated
On Reality’s pyre,
Engulfed with fury
By cruel Fate’s fire;
Stinging my eyes,
Singeing my soul,
And as I stand looking
At the ashes grey,
I feel so light-
I am emptied of Life.

Guest Post on Shravan's Blog (Ephemeral Eternity)

2009-02-20T23:40:00.000+05:30

Shravan is a fellow-blogger my best friend introduced to me- a very creative guy brimming with intensely original and innovative ideas.I was quite taken aback- I mean, pleasantly surprised- when he asked me to do a guest post on his blog. It was indeed an honour... Thank you Shravan! To see the post i contributed, click here

Nostalgia

2009-02-17T16:53:00.000+05:30

When memories come pelting
Like hailstones on the glades-
A furious storm of sights and sounds,
Colours bright and soothing shades,
Places known and faces dear,
Voices loved and touch familiar...

Shards of old laughter-
Untinged with tears,
Unbroken by thoughts
Of what comes after.

Dreams together dreamt
And woes together wept;
Those times when
Past and Future slept,
As the Infinite Moment
I drank to the lees,
Cocooned by the silk
Of friendship and love.

In moments like these
When a whirlwind from the past
Wrenches me away
From the present grey;
And I find myself longing
For those places known and faces dear,
Those voices loved and touch familiar....

When nostalgia rains down
In endless torrents,
My heart it floods
Not with mirth or torment,
But with wistful streams
Of happy sorrow....

First Rain (LP 6)

2009-02-14T00:23:00.000+05:30

It’s the first rain
At the end of a summer
Of dry passions
And dreary deadness;
Of stifling heat
That sapped my strength,
A long dry spell
That seemed to never end.

I walked on and on
In the scorching sun,
My sweat mingling
With bitter tears.

I tried to lull myself to believe
That this is Life-
These lurid colours
That distract but never soothe,
This riotous clamour
And hollow laughter,
These gleeful sighs
And woeful smiles;
This torrid season
Of dust and lust.

But that was until
Rain clouds gathered
On my heart’s horizon,
Destiny thundered,
And it began to rain...

Oh! Such coolness, such silky wetness,
Such earthy fragrance
Like never before...
My wounds all healed
In the divine downpour,
That washed off my spirit
The dust of doubt;
Dreams sprouted again
In my barren life,
Wilted flowers blossomed
When touched by the rain;
It cooled the charred
Embers of the past,
And today I know
What peace is at last.

I drench myself again and again,
My thirst insatiable;
It’s my first love after all,
The first rain
On my parched soul.

P.S: With this, I conclude my Adolescent Love Poem series. Wishing you all a very happy Valentine's Day! Enjoy! :)

Love Came Knocking (LP 5)

2009-02-12T14:47:00.000+05:30

Love came knocking at my door,
But I was too fast asleep;
Asleep and dreaming
Of princes on white steeds,
And lovers on lily beds.

Oh! Hear I did not
That nervous little knock,
Trembling with unsaid words,
Unsaid dreams...and unsaid love.

I was searching the skies
For the rainbow of love,
But I failed to see
The forlorn cloud nearby,
Heaving with unrained love.

Danced I in the wind and waited
With the nectar of my love;
Not knowing the bee that hovered
Day and night near me,
Would not alight, only out of fright
My petals his clumsy
Black limbs would hurt.

Through moonless nights
And sunless days,
In the riot of spring
And winter’s deathly white,
The bee was ever by my side.

Oh! Love was knocking at my door,
But I could not hear the feeble sound;
The garish bird-song filled my ear,
Love’s true call I could not hear;
Nor my heartbeats sobbing loud
For a love so near...but I was blind.

And then one day, come the bee did not-
My life with loneliness was fraught;
Blush my cheek sunshine’s kiss could not,
Nor make me laugh the tickly breeze;
Revelation flashed, remorse did boom,
And I knew as sorrow rained,
The bee’s drone it was
That made me bloom....

Yes, love came knocking at my door,
But I was too fast asleep.

Rose (LP 4)

2009-02-12T14:21:00.000+05:30

I am a rose in your hands:

Love me- and I'll bloom,
Please you with my fragrance,
Dispel your gloom.

Crush me- and I'll pale,
Shrivel up and wilt,
And waste away with a silent wail.

Your Name (LP 3)

2009-02-12T14:13:00.000+05:30

I wrote your name on the golden sand,
But the wily waves crept up the shore,
And washed it away with the sweep of a hand.

I scratched your name on a tree trunk,
But one fine day,
The bark peeled away.

I carved your name on a huge rock,
But the moss smothered it after a rain,
As if my sweating labour to mock.

So I engraved your name deep
In my heart, and I know
It will forever be safe.

Silent Love (LP 2)

2009-02-12T13:58:00.000+05:30

[Inspired by the heart wrenching dilemma of an intense but incompatible crush I had in school ;)]

I have long since known
That not all feelings should be spoken,
For when you expose your heart,
You risk it being broken.

There is so much to consider,
Just too much at stake,
Before the move you make
To bare your soul.

What will be the reaction?
Will there be rejection?
With that I couldn't cope,
For the best, I can only hope.

And what if my declaration
Causes a bomb explosion,
In the lives of those I know,
And I become their foe...?

Society may not approve,
This may be forbidden love;
Their stigmas I can't remove-
Of religion, caste and class.

Oh, how will I neglect
The anguish of my loved ones;
Before their searing pain,
Won't this love look like selfish gain?

So let me keep this fire
Hidden in my heart,
Let this silent love
Go with me to the grave.

For there's so much to consider,
Just too much at stake,
Before the decision I take
To follow my heart.

Damsel in Bliss (LP1)

2009-02-12T13:54:00.000+05:30

Floats she with royal grace
Across a meadow
Of fresh green hopes;
Such glowing radiance to her face,
But purest joy born
Of noblest thought could endow.

The still dark pools of her limpid eyes
Love-heavy, laid
With the sweet nectar of love;
Her smile could thaw the winter’s ice,
Divine bliss that dwells in angels above
Blossoms in this rustic maid.

She halts by the rambling jasmine vines
Climbing away to unknown glory,
She gently plucks the pearly buds-
Tendresse has many signs...
And strings them to tell the soulful story
Of two hearts that beat as one.

Festooning the velvet piece of midnight sky
Cascading down her shoulders frail,
And oiled to lustrous perfection,
She lets out a gentle lovesome sigh
That bursts open the niveous buds
To spread the scent of a tender tale.

Skirt tickling the springy green,
She moves on, the mystic lass;
The cuckoo sings with unknown fire,
The roses blush like never seen,
And the old peepal smiles at the old, old tale
Of two hearts that beat as one....

Love Poems - Valentine's Day Special!

2009-02-12T13:36:00.000+05:30

The next few posts will be devoted to love poems that I penned when I was sixteen or seventeen, in an adolescent delirium of hormones. Indeed, that was a time when, as Pablo Neruda so succinctly put it, “love poems were breaking out all over my body”. Things were aggravated by the fact that I laboured under an idealized concept of love fed to my poor vulnerable teenage mind by our popular fiction and movies. Reading the poems now, my wiser, more mature self, finds them rather maudlin and some downright mawkish! I claim no great literary merit to them but I am fond of them all the same... because they always make me smile....

And that, my dear friends, is my sole reason for sharing them with you here on my blog.... Since Valentine's Day is round the corner, let me dedicate them to all you lovebirds out there! I'll be marking them 'LP' next to the title to distinguish them. See ya!

Neighbours

2009-02-11T20:46:00.001+05:30

Crawling in my skin,
These words they will not hear....

The anguished lyrics bombarded her ears as Sudha halted tentatively outside her son’s closed door. This had become his habit for the past few weeks- hurl his bag and tie on the sofa, get a packet of French fries from the fridge, put on rock music at full blast in his room and shut the door with a bang. He would remain locked up in his room until dinnertime and on some days, he would not turn up even then. At first, Sudha had attributed this behaviour to adolescent blues but as it became a norm, she began to grow worried.

“Vishnu!” she called out in the most neutral tone she could manage. No response. The music just blared as loud as ever. She called him once more, raising her voice a bit more this. The volume was turned down for a moment and an irritated voice answered her, “What’s it now, mom?”

Now? Sudha couldn’t help thinking to herself. This was the first time ever that she was interrupting his after-school routine.

“Open the door, son...”she said gently yet firmly.

“Why?” the grouchy question came in an instant.

“Why?” The word echoed in her head before piercing her heart. Because I want to talk to you, my son...ask you what is wrong...tell you I’m there for you. Because I can’t bear you shutting me out of your life anymore. Because I love you. But the words never travelled to her lips and all that ensued was a brief, heavy silence that was shattered as Vishnu turned up the volume again.

Sudha slowly started walking away. This was not new to her-this inability to speak up when it was needed. The same had happened on that rainy night two years ago when she tearfully confronted her husband on learning of his infidelity.

“Yea, that’s right,” Deepak had said, as coldly suave as ever in the face of his wife’s broken-hearted wrath, “I sleep with the staff nurse on my night shifts. You got a problem with that? Then just leave. I don’t give a damn, do you understand?”

Stunned, she had stood rooted to the ground, unable to speak, unable to even cry any more. And she had remained thus as he impatiently took off his coat and tossed it at her face before marching into the bathroom. Yes, she had stood there just like that- Pain, with a hospital smell....

Despite her husband’s explicit exhortation, she had stayed. She was an engineer by profession but had quit her job after marriage to become a full-time mother as Deepak preferred it that way. She would have had no problem standing on her own feet had she got a divorce...but still she chose to stay. Maybe because she felt there was nothing to look forward to in life, and hence nothing to be achieved by a divorce, her pride having already been ruthlessly demolished with surgical precision by Deepak’s inhumanly calm words on that rainy night. And then again, the thought of her son’s future had also been a deterring factor.

Leaning against the railing of the balcony, Sudha realised with a tightening sensation in her throat that her son too was moving away from her. He had been acting strangely for quite some time now. His grades were falling too. She had tried talking to him but found that her son, who had been so close to her as a child, now just would not open up with her. She had even temporarily terminated her indeterminate Cold War with Deepak to ask him to talk to their son- foolish of her, she understood almost immediately, as Deepak stared indifferently at her; he cared neither for her nor her son.

The honk of a car at her neighbours’ gate released her for the time being from her mental turmoil. A wistful look crept into her eyes as she watched Rema bustle forth to open the gate for her husband. The Thomases had been their neighbours for over five years now. Mr.Thomas was a high school teacher and the couple had a daughter who was about Vishnu’s age.

From a discreet nook of the balcony, Sudha looked on as Mr. Thomas unbuttoned his shirt and sank into a chair in the verandah. Rema appeared shortly with a steaming cup of tea, followed by their daughter. As Mr. Thomas took the cup from his wife with a tired but affectionate smile and tousled the hair of his daughter who had seated herself on the arm of his chair, Sudha remembered with an aching numbness the countless nights she had stayed up without having dinner, waiting for Deepak to return from the hospital. Only to be snarled at when he finally got home for not opening the door quickly enough, and watch with deepening hurt as he silently ate the food she served (which she had taken care to keep piping hot, the way he liked it) and then retired to bed without even asking if she had had her food.

“Is your headache better, Rema?” Mr. Thomas asked as he sipped his tea.

“Oh yes, it disappeared as soon as I put the balm. Got it probably because I stayed up too late last night.”

“Papa, we are having our study tour next week,” Tina chimed in.

“I see... and where are you going, honey?”

A smile flickered across her face as Sudha listened to the family chatter. She felt no bitterness...she had long since resigned herself to her lot.

True, the Thomases’ modest two-storeyed house looked quite plain beside their huge, elegant bungalow...but oh, thought Sudha, what would she not give to exchange her place with Rema? The family life of the Thomases was everything that Sudha had dreamt of as a starry-eyed young girl...dreams that had gone up in smoke soon after her marriage to Dr.Deepak Kumar, the “oh-so-wonderful” match that her parents found for her. Mr. Thomas was the quintessential urban middle class head of the family- caring husband, doting father and absolutely dedicated to his family. And above all, he was a gentleman to the core and a teacher of sincerity worth emulating.

Suddenly Rema’s raised voice caught the attention of Sudha who had gradually tuned out as she went off on her own mental ramblings.

“For Christ’s sake, be practical for once!” Rema was saying, sounding considerably annoyed,“Your salary alone is really not sufficient any more!”

“If it has sufficed so long, I can’t see why it can’t any more!”retorted Mr. Thomas.

“For the simple reason, my dear,” riposted Rema, “that the times have changed. The cost of living is shooting up by the day, and our daughter is growing up too....” When this elicited no response from her husband, Rema went on: “Now just look at Dr. Kumar next door. He works in a government hospital, but does that mean he’s content with his monthly salary alone? No, he is into real estate business as well...and that’s why they are so rich! Now he is what I would call a prudent, discerning family man with far sight...”

“Be content with what you have, Rema!” Mr. Thomas was starting to sound irritated.

“Yea, right! Content, did you say? With this shabby old house and rickety Maruti 800, huh? Now the Kumars...they bought a new Ford Ikon last week and they are refurbishing their house yet again. When was the last time we....”

Sudha hastily moved away in a daze, not having the strength to hear any more....

A WOMAN’S LOVE

2009-02-11T10:01:00.000+05:30

A woman’s love runs deeper
Than the springs of sorrow
That crisscross life;
A woman’s love is purer
Than the first snow that swathes
The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free
As the doves that wing
The cerulean dome;
A woman’s love is gentle
As the happy breath
Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist
That swirls in a vale astray;
A woman’s love is wild,
Like a forest fire
On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,
Swells like the tide
On a full moon night,
And engulfs her lover
In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,
Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,
Stills the roaring seas;
And spawns hurt that smoulders
In her grave.

To Kill a Butterfly

2009-02-11T09:48:00.000+05:30

[Dedicated to the victims of child sexual abuse]

These tiny wings so delicate,
Splashed with colours bright
That speak of faith untarnished,
And zest unbridled, for life
And its zillion mysteries,
For the wonders of the world around.

In wondrous rapture she drinks
The new sights and tastes;
She flits from bud to leaf,
From blossom to bower green…
Just come into the light,
She’s all trusting curiosity;
She knows not of the night or fright,
And is unalloyed felicity,
Unaware of the serpent that
Beneath every rose lies.

She sees not the cat
That creeps up from behind;
And pounces on her with a cry,
That many years apart,
Will still chill her heart.
She writhes in confused terror,
As she is mauled
By those cruel claws-
She hadn’t known of evil,
Or the world’s myriad flaws.

The villain walks away,
Leaving her worse than dead…
The tiny wings are broken,
She’ll never fly again;
Never again will she know
Joy free from fear.
The vivid hues all
Forever have faded-
Marking the sudden death
Of fragile innocence.

Laundry Blues

2009-01-09T18:05:00.000+05:30

My soul needs some mending,
It’s frayed at the ends;
It’s stained with time too,
But don’t rinse too hard-
It may tear apart.

It’s wrinkled, it’s crumpled,
You say you’ll iron it out,
But can you see
The mountains, the valleys
That nestle in the folds?
The oceans, the gorges,
That gape in the creases?

No, I have given it too often,
And given it too soon,
To too many launderers
Of too many lands,
Who promised too many wonders,
And in the end did only plunder…

So let me keep it with me,
This soiled little rag,
Some things are best
Left as they are.

NOISY SILENCE

2008-12-13T14:55:00.000+05:30

In this noisy silence,
Clamours the heart
For voice-
It knows no art;
But has no choice
Save to struggle when gagged
By armies of grey cells.

The Gift

2008-12-13T14:54:00.001+05:30

There are times
When Loneliness comes
And shakes you awake,
In the middle of the night;
To give you a gift-
Endless emptiness.

MONEY

2008-12-06T13:29:00.000+05:30

A charming pair of lovers they were-
The lad dreamy yet dashing,
The lass pretty and fair;
He was a poet, she was his Muse,
Five summers, entwined by the vines of love,
Their hearts beat as one.

But one day, he noticed
His beloved’s face was downcast,
A lily drooping in the hot sun,
He thought with a pang.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” he cried,
And lifted her chin with a tender hand.

Oh, what unfathomable mysteries
Rippled in the still, dark pools
Of her limpid eyes!
Much coaxing and pleading after,
She unburdened the load
Of her care-laden heart,
And his face turned wan.

Her parents had found for her a match,
A most suitable boy, she said,
A bloated money-bag he was,
Ah! There lay the catch-
For he, her lover, was but a poor poet.

“But sweetheart, you love me,
You couldn’t desert me!”
The anguished cry of the lad
Rent the air, silenced the birds.

“On love alone you can’t survive,”
Was her cool reply.
“Love can’t feed or clothe
Or give a good life-
A mansion with a garden,
Cars and servants besides,
Gowns of silk and diamond necklaces,
Say, can love provide these?”

“Poverty and love are strange bed-fellows,”
She reasoned further,
As the boy stood dumbstruck,
“Love wilts in the face of adversity,
Turns stale with prolonged penury;
You see, the stream of love runs dry
In the terrain of harsh reality.”

“Money isn’t everything either,”
He countered, his eyes flashing,
“It can build a palace but not a home;
And though in pursuit of joy,
Far and wide you may roam,
It can buy you only comforts, not happiness,
Platters of good food but not good health,
Gift you with flatterers but not true friends.
Tell me, can all the wealth on earth
Guarantee calm and peace of mind?”

But she only sighed and tossed her head,
“Spoken truly like the idle dreamer
That you are, and now I’m afraid,
It’s goodbye forever….”

A fortnight later, it was her wedding day,
Dancing and feasting, all looked gay;
Bedecked with jewels and flowers
And wearing a radiant smile,
Her beauty could put Venus herself to shame.
The groom arrived, he held her hand,
And soon they were man and wife.

That night, demure and coy,
And trembling like an aspen leaf
On a windy day,
She entered the bridal chamber
Where he sat waiting.

But his forehead was fraught with worry,
And before she could speak a word,
He said in a rush: “Darling, I’m sorry,
But I thought you should know,
Since this beauteous day we swore
To partake of mirth and sorrow-
The stocks have crashed, my accounts frozen,
And now I’ll have to start from scratch;
But don’t you worry dear,
They say love that starts with struggle
Endures till the last, have no fear.”

Whether love did indeed double
In hardship, he never came to know,
For she swooned, entangled in the rubble
Of a thousand shattered dreams.

But Fate had more in store for her,
For the next day, on opening the newspaper,
Her former lover’s face smirked at her,
Under a headline that screamed:
“YOUNG POET WINS MILLION-DOLLAR AWARD”

The Chasm Between

2008-12-03T00:40:00.000+05:30

Now there's no right, no wrong-
What does it matter?
No I, me, you, we...
In a broken-hearted spasm;
Only an unbridgeable chasm
That shows
Where once I thought
No crack could grow.

How Far?

2008-10-09T17:48:00.000+05:30

How far, I asked,
A stranger on the road,
From Love to Hate,
From a smile to tears.

Not much, replied
The helpful man,
Pointing the way:
Just go five steps straight,
Past a careless word or two,
A thoughtless deed-
And you reach where you want.

Old is Gold

2008-10-09T16:52:00.000+05:30

Yesterday, while rummaging
Through Memory’s dark attic,
I came across an old love-
Dusty, sooty, grubby…and old.

But when with weary heart
And trembling hands,
I brushed the cobwebs away;
Wiped off the smudge
Of wasted years and tears,
I found it still shining,
Splendid as ever before-
Old indeed is gold.

Broken Wings

2008-10-09T16:42:00.000+05:30

Beckons my dreams
The endless blue,
But I cannot fly
With these broken wings;
And though the wind sings
Of the days I flew,
And through the clouds
The empyrean woos…
I cannot fly-
I can only rue,
The day I let
My wings be clipped.