Thursday, September 25, 2008

The Charlatan Cacophony of My Kin

I mostly avoid seeing what appears to be
When I enter a swarming jamboree
While a dozen cliques clamor aimlessly
While my ‘friends’ feel happy hopelessly;
While they raise their arms longing to wrap me
While they pass a smile full to kiss anybody.

“O kin! O love! My dear friend,
Tell me over some wine and bread
What makes your hair so black and curly?
What gives your skin that flare, that flurry?
What makes you like that ludicrous alike?
You shouldn’t wear this shirt with a tie.
Listen when I share my clandestine
On how the best shade is tangerine
You seem to be quite short of taste,
Flock with me, you’ll learn all in haste!”

“Such trivialities”, I reply, “shant be necessary
For they are for the charlatan society.
Please hear what lies beneath
This exultant well disposed sheath
Be the one to answer who is me
Apart from cheering who I could be.
For here a million belong to akin a creed
Prove to me that you’re a friend indeed.”

“My my! Not a word,
Not another breath under my nose!
Your pathetic, tragic soul,
Shall dare not take its toll.
You ask to walk an extra mile,
Though I haven’t any minute to while awhile.
For I am here to cross some words
To kill some time while we ogle at birds”

“For the sake of my space, my time
For those pieces of borrowed dime
For the moment when I lent a comfy shoulder
For when I helped you move the boulder
For the friend you found inside of me
For the friend I try to see in thee
As I look beyond the receding horizon
Looking blindly for a cogent reason
To what difference lies between
Who I could and who I should be.

“Your demeanor baffles me
To self embarrassment that I cant see
How to classify what is help, what is favor
What’s a deed done out of endless savor
I implore a state of understanding
While the world seems to be quite demeaning.”

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Hoping Against Hope

This is a poem on child abuse. What if the child has no clue that she is being abused and is trying to convince herself that this is how the world goes around? Ironical, isn't it?

As those teary eyes peep beneath the door,
For any shadows lurking on the floor,
Any signs of you being there,
Hoping against hope, this was fair.

“You, o uncle, o my family kin,
Thou shall know what’s good, what’s sin,
Thus I believe in your disposition,
Hoping against hope, there were benign intentions.

“So when you dropped by my room,
‘Just to say a hello, an adieu’
Shutting the door behind your back
Putting me up upon the rack
Tracing the lace beneath my dress
Why must my bosom supple to breasts?!
My eyes scare me, as I catch a look
Of your deeds in the mirror at the nook,
The butcher’s goat, as it waits,
For the dagger in his hand to signature its fate!

“I mustn’t panic, should not despair,
Should not question those who ‘care’.
This was right, this was just,
All uncles would do what was must,
Shame on me to doubt his love
See a vulture disguised a dove!
I am young, know not what lies
How the moon conjures the tides,
Should trust he who takes care of me
Who comes in the dark, but adores me
Hoping against hope, that I am wrong…”

Saturday, June 28, 2008

The Truth about Lies

The dictionary defines the word ‘true’ as something in accordance with fact or reality. And ironically fact is defined as something true. That is such a neat way to fool people and manipulate these familiar words. I wonder how many erudite or imprudent people have given these four letter words a thought, but I have come to realize there aren’t even half as many truths as we claim every breathing moment of our lives.
Come to think of it, there are billions of people living lives, sharing the world, bustling in the crowd, feeling feelings, seeing light, not seeing in the dark, appreciating colors, fouling on foul mouths. Who in the right state of mind claimed that all of us saw the world in the same manner? When we are born, we open our eyes to confront a world completely unknown to us, even the body bestowed on our soul is like a new friend to be understood, to be communicated with, to be teased to know your limits with it and to draw the lines consequently. A baby just a few hours old maybe doesn’t even know that if he just pulls his eye lids upward, he would be able to ‘open’ his eyes. It might sound a little weird, but I don’t think he would be able to define ‘opening your eyes’ as lifting his eyelids and rolling his eyeballs in all direction. In fact, I don’t think he is even grateful to be gifted with the sense of ‘vision’.
Till the time he is spared from all the learning, he communicates in a language with no sounds and actions. I think if one wants to see how magic happens, one must observe a young soul getting on with his daily chores with just no visible mode of communication with the people and objects around him. Once the learning spree begins, he sees a thing and a name comes up for it. Everything has a name; name is the most important thing in the world, words are names, every word is a name, and to connect to anything I must know its name, to be respected by it, I must know its name, to like it, to dislike it, to get angry at it – I must know its name. The child perhaps takes his five sensory organs a little more seriously for the first time when he sees his mother shrink her smiling face into other expressions such as a frown or a scorn or even delight for that matter (although her face wouldn’t shrink in that case) or starts to tickle him. In fact the first time he realizes his own forte for opening his mouth and controlling the air in his lungs to make him feel nice and happy would be at the same playful moment (for your reference I mean laughing).
There is a world in every eye. What appears red to me might be blue in your eyes, a circle for me would be a shape with no corners, for you it might just have two ends, or for that matter corner for you must mean no corners at all! I know it sounds little obnoxious, absurd, are-you-out-of-your-fickle-mind sorts. But how in the world can you be sure of what I am seeing? There are words; there are languages, which are man-made and on the other hand we have us, humans, lives that are created by something supernatural (okay we come out of our mothers’ wombs and our parents have ‘created’ us!). We have named everything so that there is something in common in all of us. Hence the sky is blue (on most sunny days), no matter what color it appears to you. And since we have heard this since our fleeting memory can allow us, my saying that the sky looks different from what it looks to you sounds absurd. I hope I am making some sense to you!!
So much for the colors and the shapes, but how does it relate to my subject? Since everything is subjective, differing from person to person, these cannot be called facts. Consequently, I am not as true as false I am when I say I love having tandoori chicken. “Now where does food come into the scuffle between truth and lies??!” Emotions are just the consequences of hormonal imbalances – like the rise and fall of a stock market (!!). When you love, hate, envy, excite, mourn, or feel any emotion, it is either a surge of adrenaline swelling your heart (not literally of course!) or some other biological process. It is probable, that when you like some one and think of him/her day and night and fantasize all happy (again through your perspective) and gay moments that you would want to spend with him/her your face curls into a scornful look instead of the more accepted and observed smile. Also maybe when people hate someone, you have butterflies in your stomach or you skip a heartbeat. I say so because maybe the first time you felt like despising and emulating someone in the same moment (jealousy) you were told, “hey, guess you like her!” and so what seems to be envious to others appears like love to you. So emotions aren’t facts that can be true or false. So I would not lie in saying I hate my mother because maybe my heart is filled with a sense of immense care and joy when I ‘hate’ my mother!
Our sense of direction is also not a fact. Nobody asked me before defining right to be right and left to be wrong? Maybe my ears hear right to be left and left to be right. Maybe the sun rises in the west for me because the world appears upside down to me!
I can site almost everything to be subjective, opinionated and hence not suitable to be categorized between truth and fallacy. THIS is the only truth – the truth about lies.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

another try at writing

fellas, do justice to my other blog by reading it (not that anything significant has been posted on it as yet).

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

The Bohemian Bird

The Bohemian Bird

There was once a Bohemian Bird,
With her blue immaculate as seas,
She flocked with feathers of many others,
And met cordially with the bees.

And there she was, the Bohemian Bird,
Blading through the thinning sky,
Reaching to the blazing sun,
And racing with her inner I.

And happily would she, the Bohemian Bird,
Attend to her duties alike stout,
Follow the trail that her family led,
And would bleed to make them proud.

Yet known she was, the Bohemian Bird,
To take the path un-tread,
To appetite even the bitter curd,
To paint grass a fiery red.

As loved can be, the Bohemian Bird,
Would the forest deluge on her,
To wherever the wind soared to dance,
They danced to her fervor.

Like an everyday, the Bohemian Bird,
Paused at the crackling water-fall,
To see the monkeys take the leap,
While gravity slung them like a ball.

“Fascinating”, she mumbled, the Bohemian Bird,
To “trust-walk” at nature’s call,
To be one in the monkey kin,
And jump from the water-fall!

So she gamed, the Bohemian Bird,
With the very delineation of identity,
By jumping abreast with her 4-limbed friends,
Disregarding her ‘heavenly’ individuality.

In vain did she, the Bohemian Bird,
Kept ablaze her endeavor,
Her attempt to blend with the swarm,
One more time…with growing devour.

She evaded the fact, the Bohemian Bird,
That red would not be green,
That she would be herself in sky,
And a minion, lest she preen.

Sadly, the Bohemian Bird,
Despised her avant-garde sane,
That left her feeling a renegade,
That crowned her amongst the mundane.

“Alas!” She reasoned, the Bohemian Bird,
“No good would my prudence do,
If it cannot buy me friends,
If it cannot appreciate their ‘trends’.”

Slice her wings, the Bohemian Bird,
If not grow some limbs.
To emulate the dim-witted, ill-fitted kin,
To jump from your own whims.

Even as she fell, the Bohemian Bird,
Plunging into the murderous sea,
Did neither regret cross her heart,
Nor did her determination flee.

Little did she know, the dead Bohemian Bird,
That the masses gathered to see,
To build a stone and write on it,
“The one we all wanted to be”.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Cold Turkey

Cold Turkey
PART - 1
Our first vibes melted together in a joke,
We stumbled, never spoke of what lied ahead,
You took the challenge and went on,
Only to crave me, that’s when it went wrong…

I am what you suffered, addicted to,
I am what you traded with your wine and bun,
Filling your lungs with a deceptive ecstasy,
That left you worse than numb.

I can be the bitterness in your nip,
Pushing you into with the drunkards’ cult,
Killing you with every icy drop,
But never putting your tears to a halt.

I could be the poison on your lips,
Burning from the tobacco in your blood,
Promising to fade your sorrow in the smoke,
Yet only robbing you of the life you loved.

Of the rest of my trances to you,
Your fortunes could confront you to,
My disguise of love, my most creditable,
Which would leave you ever so vulnerable.

I am what you find the most beautiful,
Captivating you for another sight of me,
Offering only anguish and despair
And a hollowness that pretends not to be.

So after every word we trade,
After every glance, you put on stake
The freedom which seems slaving,
The friends who were never deceiving.

And one fine morning when you dawn to realize,
That I’ve conned you into joy in disguise
You shall turn around steady,
And follow the cold turkey.

PART – 2
For this is the path all junkies tread,
All know what lies ahead,
No matter what you face in this dark tunnel,
The other side would be bright and abeyant.

There’s a world in every eye,
There’s a symphony in every ear,
The catch lies in blinding yourself to what you see
And you won’t madden to my being in everything.

And so you shun that world
Shunning YOU here in the first place!
The nook that purrs with your fear,
Hoping against hope may be I am still there.

You tie your hands, strap your feet,
Gag your mouth with a shred.
Lock the door, draw the drape.
And drip your pain behind your nape.

As hours melt in the heat of the night
As the room animates before your eyes
Your mind conspires to your soul
And poisons your love with malice.

So what was once a pleasure to re-live
Those fingers reaching out to knot
Now round around your corpse
And raid out whatever you’d got.

You fight your own certitude
Pulling away from the straps
Choking for death on the chains
And drinking the thirst from your veins .

When the morning sun dawns next hour
Deceiving the bloody curtains,
Bathing you in pure sinless warmth
Luring you far from the wrath.

You’d wonder what thee thought of me?
What thou words speak for me.
Had the cold turkey turned my venomous ardor
Into a chalice full of abhor?

But that’s the beauty of the eschew
That’s why your blood was not of no use.
For you still respect me for what I am
You still see the benign conjure that I can.

And you move on, onto a new lane
Onto a new disguise of my mane
You might pit into a trap lurky
Relying you have the cold turkey…

Divita Mathur
A non drug ex-junkie