Swing

She walked to the swings,
Which seemed still to her coming
Like ignoring an old friend,
Who’d let you rust, on a cold winter night.
She stood on the swings in pride -
As a knight mounted on his horse.
Slow, gentle, small push to start it all
Turning into a roaring screechy beast
In her humble able command.

The wind that blew into her face,
And through her hairs,
The fluttering frock – she liked.
Everything stopped, she and her swing apart -
On a loud shrieking ride,
“This is me. And I will fly!”
In gushing joy it reached its top. Every time.
Just as it came back she’d almost see -
Upside of a small cozy nest on a distant tree.

- To Swati

Yearning

how hard the job of an artist?-

there lies a dilemma if

to discover what is said? or

to contribute an untold tale?

yearning for originality with

An honest conscious.

repetitive.exhausted lines.

hates to know its been said -

a song a lyric a poem a paint

to know nothing new happens

all things wise already said

should one shut eyes and

strode along a taken path?

history seem like a criminal

it steals the joy of innovation

is the world a cycle?  -

a cycle of said and done things

one only gets to see them pass

you talk – you will long

you listen you will know,

maybe the genius knows it all -

he who takes pride in

finding himself in others.

How hard the job of an artist?-
To be heard in a raging noise
And depleting ideas in time.
There lies a dilemma if -
To discover what is said?
Or to contribute an untold tale?
Yearning for originality with
An honest conscious.
Repetitive. Exhausted lines.
Hates to know its been said -
A song. A lyric. A poem. A paint.
To know nothing new happens.
All things wise are already said.
Should one shut eyes and
Strode along a taken path?
History seem like a criminal -
It steals the joy of innovation.
Is the world a cycle?  -
A cycle of said and done things.
One only gets to see them pass.
You talk – you will long,
You listen – you will know.
Maybe the genius knows it all -
He who takes pride in -
Finding himself in others.

Drenched

in a gloomy weather, i walking down to work

it started to drillze, but i continue to walk.

my dignity, my well tucked shirt, and shiny shoes

did not want to run. Or get under a shade

i continue to walk, like i knew it would stop

i could feel the wet on the side of my shirt and

was now an involuntary fast pacer.style preserved.

deafenning thunders.

the nearest shade, few paces away,i didnt look back

shortest distance. some clear space and took a run.

i ran like i knew i could reach the shade in dry.

with evey step i took, it hit me hard -

the flirting rain, raging my apathy. raindrops.

heavier they fell, should i give up?

an unknow, long lost someone, laughed at me.

lightning and roars.

i smiled back. the child, wanted to stay.

and it poured like it played with him – the child.

in bursts of unstoppable laughs, i slowed,

and like a chuckling embrace it rained.

i knew i was near the shade – i didnt want to go.

my dignity, my joy, my true self, listening to me.

i know one thing. the child is still alive!

i rejoiced the rain.

In a gloomy weather, I walked down to work
It started to drillze, but I continue to walk.
My dignity, my well tucked shirt, and shiny shoes
Did not want to run. Or get under a shade
I continue to walk, like I knew it would stop
I could feel the wet on the side of my shirt and
Was now an involuntary fast pacer. Style preserved.

Deafening thunders.

The nearest shade, few paces away, I didnt look back
Shortest distance. some clear space and took a run.
I ran like I knew I could reach the shade in dry.
With every step I took,  it hit me hard -
The rain, raging at my apathy as raindrops.
Heavier they fell, should I give up? When
A long lost someone, laughed at me.

Lightning and roars.

I smiled back. The child, wanted to stay.
And it poured like it played with him – the child.
In bursts of unstoppable laughs,  I slowed,
And like a chuckling embrace it rained.
I knew I was near the shade – I didnt want to go.
My dignity, my joy is my true self, listening to me.
I know one thing. The child is still alive!

And I will rejoice this with the rain.

Mademoiselle

she just stood there.

in her wriggling curly hair

covering her face from the side

she just stood there.

a smooth fair pair of

hands resting on the parapet.

she looked below,

into the pond.

a green small pond.

and a puff of calm smooth breeze

skimmed through her, just enough

to reveal the sides of a face

a face of a soft cheeky face

those faint eye brows,

and a simple small smile

she was looking down.

with those eyes of love.

into the pond, at the fish.

she seemed to ache for them,

she’d wish to speak, said her lips

but she just stood there,

empathising the fish.

the fish in a dirty green pond.

She just stood there.
In her wriggling curly hair
Covering her face from the side,
She just stood there.
A smooth fair pair of
Hands resting on the parapet.
She looked below,
Into the pond.
A green small pond.
And a puff of calm smooth breeze
Skimmed through her,
To reveal the sides of a face,
Of a soft cheeky face
Those faint eyebrows,
With a simple honest smile.
She was looking down.
With those eyes of love.
Into the pond, at the fish.
She seemed to ache for them,
Her lips longed to utter,
But she just stood there,
Empathising the fish.
The fish in a dirty green pond.

-Inspired and to, the French chick.

Clouds

Silken moves, calm descend
Greyish hues and in soft fuzz
Shapeless lines, humbling shadows.
In silver stroke abstractions,
Grazing the landscape.
As it kissed the flower -
The lips left in dew drop wet.

Graceful elagant slow dances
Sailing amidst the trees
To misty thoughful nowhere
To be with the one they need
With the cold, humming breeze
Arome is what they leave -
The smell of eucalyptus.

Rugs

Almost awake from a gentle dream
Unwilling to leave, fearing no return
I can’t seem to hold no longer
Slipping to cold chilling realities
What a beautiful dream! Pray it lasts!
Aint it too much to lose – Just a dream?
Those figures, people and places
Interesting Silhouettes. Nameable faces.
They all seem listening to you,
Colourful, caring, fearing,
Strong, abstract, collages.
The daylight fades in, tearing
My eyes, my dreams to mundane mornings.
That’s when, my sweet, you came,
Subtle touches, tender fingers and
A warm rug pulled over me.
I’d mumble and tell you now,
I love you! Forever!

Inspired from Banana Pancakes. Bangalore weather helps

Another Day

Another day, a new beginning.
It seems just the same
The birds, unaware and busy
With their important chores -
Flying in pious circles,
The dark shades fade out
To crimson colors of warmth
People are up and running
For their mundane relevance-
Jumping back to their lives

A new day, a new start.
Peace could be restored
The wounded will heal
A sympathetic end to suffering
The dead will be grieved.
Hope lives longer, than
The vengeance that raged.
History will be entry-ed
Without a mention of
The enemy – the hatred and war.

Today. This day,
Million work force will sweat
Tons of ores will be moved
The earthly metals melt
Newer machines made.
In this vibrance of inhabitance
Man and machine, will make-
New walls, reach new heights,
And will roar to the skies
As they conquer the unseen.

New friends, new tastes
Destined soul mates and parting couples
Silent joy and weeping silence.
Every moment memorized.
Simple smiles, emotions and touches
Near and dear would be greeted
Prayers, wishes and rituals
Celebrations and ceremonies
A new life, a new mother,
And more love shall be born.

What a day! This day!
Better medicines, better cures
Invisible stars – sighted.
Technology. Communication.
Science in its final frontiers
Same ol’ notes in newer symphonies.
Art. Expression and abandoned poems.
The boulders of humanity move
By their significant infinitesimals.
And an another day reigns.

-to my new friends. Inspired from many. Punch and Ashok mostly.

Papers

We are all the same, all the same.
Plain white papers, different shapes and sizes.
Penned in the inks of time -
Tastes and accomplishments, ideas and stands
Authored by the society on us -
Are the scribblings we fondly call life.
Yelling out are we, to be heard,
To be read aloud, to be piled and saved.
Nothing original, nothing unique,
Making futile attempts for the eternity.
Left abandoned, and incomplete.
At most end up encrypted in an ancient script.
We are all the same, all the same.
Used plain papers – amusing what be writ.

Rewind

What have I become?
Unknown and alien to self
Lil’ dreams and simple friends
Fading memories of best times
Let me back to myself!
What have i become?
Where is the bliss and joy?
Ruthless people -racing all life
I wish I didn’t know
The unsaid complications -
Of my simple small life.
Quit me, I m not myself .
Those invisible friends speak no more,
And I have nothing to say.
Nothing now seem so pure -
As plain as a child’s smile
I live the complications.
What have I become?
What have I become?
- My sweetest friend.

This is inspired from the lyrics of ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails

Gallery

I walked pass the gallery,
An exotic display of paintings
Mad rush of men, to appreciate
I could own one I thought.
And so I strode, in the search
For the one that shall speak
To me and be made for me.

Many paintings, each different
A million colors or plain art
Those strokes and splendid contrasts
Thick thoughts and smooth angles
Original compositions in each
Ah! Lovely this incomprehensibility
They all have something to say

Blissfull and graceful, i feel them
These creations calling me
But i shall pass, this is not it.
My painting awaits for me
Down the hallway, says the instinct
I m walking past so many arts
Many are buying, and I am moving.

Aint women like this, my friend?
- Like a painting.