tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86091469229472091182024-03-04T21:16:21.671-08:00The Grass FlowerThe Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-74740127475088786872012-05-17T03:17:00.001-07:002012-05-17T03:17:01.197-07:00The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-78633636491696132002011-12-29T07:04:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:07:00.510-08:00MY FIRST CRUSHFirst, I fell for your <br />Written words in timeless verse.<br /> <br />Next, I fell for your written words<br />In striking metaphors and symbols. <br /> <br />Next, I fell for your <br />Written words in emotions delicate<br />And feelings passionate... <br /> <br />Yet next, I fell for your written words <br />Spreading shine, music and rhythm<br />In the dark corridors of my life. <br /> <br />Then, I fell for you…. <br />And had my first crush on you, my invisible poetess<br />Gripping me in virtual tentacles and<br />Living in an unknown world.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-28211375344211741732011-08-12T00:49:00.000-07:002011-08-12T00:54:04.472-07:00THE CLEVER PLAGIARIST<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1tk4BlOD7cGVmcejAgObywD9h-J-3iHmYJMvDEswb0PnktQV7QqL_TdZMS8cBaKEyEwAcBno6kb-CSCf4o7LaDqApAgHRZ8wIaPErKEbQoE-XWFa5ej2YJMspRNGtnFy2wkvj2eOyuA/s1600/209869_214125895279052_100000449303043_759328_17978_o.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1tk4BlOD7cGVmcejAgObywD9h-J-3iHmYJMvDEswb0PnktQV7QqL_TdZMS8cBaKEyEwAcBno6kb-CSCf4o7LaDqApAgHRZ8wIaPErKEbQoE-XWFa5ej2YJMspRNGtnFy2wkvj2eOyuA/s320/209869_214125895279052_100000449303043_759328_17978_o.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639874565014476898" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<br />Speak not to the
<br />Stubborn cuckoo
<br />That perches hidden
<br />Amidst the branches
<br />Of the gulmohar in unfailing regularity,
<br />As spring sets in our neighbourhood,
<br />
<br />Beware
<br />In a bad trade deal,
<br />He’ll cajole you,
<br />To barter your melodious voice
<br />With his jarring one
<br />
<br />Compose no more
<br />Your original music
<br />On your humming scale
<br />When the cuckoo is at
<br />An ear-shot distance
<br />Camouflaged and all ears:
<br />He has survived for ages
<br />Taking the music-lovers for a ride
<br />On pure piracy.
<br />
<br />Convert not
<br />The visible alphabet
<br />Into exclusive and exquisite lyrics
<br />When the cuckoo is lurking
<br />In the thick-red foliage;
<br />He is a clever plagiarist
<br />And master in distance learning.
<br />
<br />
<br />The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-80341318774046856862011-08-12T00:39:00.000-07:002011-08-12T00:42:34.582-07:00OH! CUCKOO…..MY CUCKOOOh cuckoo, my cuckoo
<br />Do sing and sing
<br />With your heart into the song
<br />To soak my love’s soul
<br />In your music and magic
<br />That she’s inspired to compose
<br />Immortal lines.
<br />
<br />Oh, cuckoo, my cuckoo
<br />Do sing and sing out
<br />Your passionate heart
<br />So that my love's soul
<br />Gets absorbed into music
<br />Of a different tune
<br />This spring, in an alien land.
<br />
<br />Oh, cuckoo, my cuckoo
<br />Do sing and sing out
<br />For my kindred soul,
<br />Made of delicate emotions
<br />And soft dreams that
<br />She finds her way through,
<br />Stranded as she’s
<br />In wonder and awe
<br />At the crossroads.
<br />The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-17643939878377586532011-08-02T21:59:00.000-07:002011-08-23T23:54:30.689-07:00The Cactus<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05eKGkF_JualBRFt4ChjD7P5mxTOKnqpMbBVUQHcWh1sbpY8kmzqosTdkeJFzxqfs1UZPiTM_msnaB4D9xSJ0d2VtJBbscw-G-oJ5SzVFZr-1jd7v3BZaD4ys2sZ_i9N8S3A3QyeuKWM/s1600/1236566825HqB82dE.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05eKGkF_JualBRFt4ChjD7P5mxTOKnqpMbBVUQHcWh1sbpY8kmzqosTdkeJFzxqfs1UZPiTM_msnaB4D9xSJ0d2VtJBbscw-G-oJ5SzVFZr-1jd7v3BZaD4ys2sZ_i9N8S3A3QyeuKWM/s320/1236566825HqB82dE.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644312270946349458" /></a>
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<br />
<br />Imagine me
<br />A solitary and ostracized
<br />Vegetative cell
<br />Of a barren loin
<br />On a limitless sandy habitat,
<br />Where my tender dream
<br />Was sprouted.
<br />
<br />I was dazed in my virgin dream
<br />On being tossed
<br />By the seasonal onslaught
<br />Of blinding winds and winter
<br />And sweeping shadows
<br />Under a looming barren sky.
<br />
<br />Between unending moments
<br />I felt the primordial thirst
<br />On my thorny throat,
<br />With which sooner
<br />I got myself familiarized.
<br />
<br />I have touched with my palm
<br />The surface of the damp Moon
<br />On a naked firmament,
<br />Playing her ancient game
<br />Of hide and seek
<br />On a periodic pattern.
<br />
<br />During lingering nights,
<br />Waiting on a forlorn hope,
<br />I have also seen
<br />The hollow and waterless
<br />Eyes of the Pole Star
<br />Nurturing in every blink
<br />A fraction of a dream
<br />Of a pregnant cloud
<br />And pining for the chaotic drops
<br />Of an earthly monsoon.
<br />
<br />Me, having loneliness
<br />For a company eternal,
<br />And parched to the core
<br />In the midst of a tropical May,
<br />Waiting on my toes
<br />For the breath and whisper
<br />Of an Indian Sawan.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-38801018563906413582011-08-02T21:53:00.000-07:002011-08-02T21:59:33.036-07:00Canvas and Colours<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiypvpNx_zmwXZHGjkPt7o9jMXjyxNQHABhCERKRDVTqzVxAfEyAaZ81jCmLKgHHRAvinf4F1lH8NGFIlQWgS6kqpJJJmP_CnOLe-ipT6BBcvMxZfTAclR_91bKHTPNgHXeL77seqjwgU/s1600/color_fusion_canvas_poster-p228678016902267082t51d_400.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiypvpNx_zmwXZHGjkPt7o9jMXjyxNQHABhCERKRDVTqzVxAfEyAaZ81jCmLKgHHRAvinf4F1lH8NGFIlQWgS6kqpJJJmP_CnOLe-ipT6BBcvMxZfTAclR_91bKHTPNgHXeL77seqjwgU/s320/color_fusion_canvas_poster-p228678016902267082t51d_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636489629045124802" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />‘Hold on !<br />Just hold on<br />Your mundane brush<br />And dare not soil<br />My silken skin<br />With the cheap colour<br />You purchased from the local market<br />On a Sunday window-shopping’<br /><br />Thus commanded <br />The virgin canvas<br />While preparing itself<br />For long voluntary wait<br />For the right colours<br />Both deep and worthy.<br /><br />For years<br />It was waiting<br />Like the accursed stone<br />At the workshop of my heart<br />In a dreamy passivity<br />By holding together<br />The abstract criss-cross<br />Of the sagging fabric<br />Till a wrinkled eternity.<br /><br />Today, during an unusually heavy<br />Urban evening<br />Sitting on your drawing room sofa<br />Over a badly prepared cup of tea<br />I gazed, I gazed at your pretty profile<br />And your lovely eyes<br />Dispassionately as usual,<br />When the lonesome Evening-star<br />Got itself suspended<br />Over your roof-top,<br />Like a kingfisher.<br />I tell you, I tell you<br />That was the moment<br />When I felt an unusually<br />Deep commotion<br />Rustle and bustle<br />Definite twist<br />And an uneasy urgency<br />At the work-shop of my heart.<br /><br />‘Steal the colours at once<br />From her lips warm and extra-red<br />And paint me all over!’<br /><br />Thus came the Second commandment<br />From the immaculate canvas<br />And I painted<br />A masterpiece.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-7125904190046427882011-08-02T20:48:00.000-07:002011-08-02T21:52:07.010-07:00Nobody Knows<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLd0EgO6ui3HkWaFv6wDY8uvCE5__1sFhzLio5nmAvtKLeCTfZWgihf8njXIE8vJTm7Re1bMVMGVkiNkz7oJK96ReLANAZlaBvw-8h8Y1UWMerhFqWc6CU2BdiAiAbjWjCuyeZzHxz5c/s1600/1851772-texture-and-colorful-of-autumnal-leaves-green-leaf-between-fall.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 168px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLd0EgO6ui3HkWaFv6wDY8uvCE5__1sFhzLio5nmAvtKLeCTfZWgihf8njXIE8vJTm7Re1bMVMGVkiNkz7oJK96ReLANAZlaBvw-8h8Y1UWMerhFqWc6CU2BdiAiAbjWjCuyeZzHxz5c/s320/1851772-texture-and-colorful-of-autumnal-leaves-green-leaf-between-fall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636487867731497282" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Nobody knows,<br />Not even myself<br />As to why a green leaf<br />Fell apart from the mighty tree.<br />Some say,<br />The trunk was tender.<br />Others say,<br />The villain was the west wind.<br />But everyone was silently sad<br />To see it lost<br />Among a plethora of dry leaves<br />Tossing their heads below<br />On the swollen sod.<br /><br />Nobody knows,<br />Not even myself<br />As to why suddenly<br />My vision got blurred<br />And I could not locate<br />My favourite starlet<br />Through the window<br />Even during starry- nights.<br />My mom terms it<br />The handiwork of an evil-spirit<br />That eyed on me.<br /><br />Nobody knows,<br />Not even myself<br />As to why the poet<br />Stopped composing<br />The last couplet of the great epic,<br />Some say,<br />He has gone crazy<br />Others say,<br />His fountain-pen<br />Was broken,<br />Yet some other say, that<br />His heart was broken.<br /><br />Nobody knows,<br />Not even myself<br />As to why the cuckoo went dumb.<br />Some say,<br />The Spring ditched him.<br />Others blame it on Winter<br />But all wondered<br />How was it that last year<br />He sang deep-throated<br />When there was neither Spring nor Winter ?<br /><br />Nobody knows,<br />Not even myself<br />As to why they parted<br />Supposedly on a fine morning<br />With throats choked and eyes moist.<br />Some say,<br />They parted silently.<br />Other say,<br />They did mutter some words<br />Of the nature of suppressed whispers.<br />When she turned her face<br />And he looked downward.<br />Everybody looked askance<br />But nobody asked.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-66512443452561454002011-07-31T23:07:00.000-07:002011-07-31T23:09:10.272-07:00Flowered<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUmvzBb71Se28D0NICqJ9N0B24aUKSfCCD9G4ooMqHgHmkSIOrD0pqvU-WbLw2F3SOiK3Y5oX5VRwfjDENE4i1yZUaBjOJsT4f0QFTx7LNVA8ayHltJ8807DN6D92F3eOdJ0uNwzzASs/s1600/The_Perfect_Nature-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUmvzBb71Se28D0NICqJ9N0B24aUKSfCCD9G4ooMqHgHmkSIOrD0pqvU-WbLw2F3SOiK3Y5oX5VRwfjDENE4i1yZUaBjOJsT4f0QFTx7LNVA8ayHltJ8807DN6D92F3eOdJ0uNwzzASs/s320/The_Perfect_Nature-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635765571683955922" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Placed in the midst<br />Of a twilight zone<br />My vision went hazy,<br />My fancy disoriented,<br />And while my failed dreams<br />Were in desperation<br />I had a glimpse<br />Of the loveliest of faces,<br />Under a white veil.<br /><br />I stole a glance of the loveliness<br />Of the countenance benign,<br />While lamenting<br />Over the distorted reflections<br />On the fragmented glass remains<br />Of my dreams<br />Of phenomenal dimension,<br />Which I had fondled<br />And renewed over the years.<br /><br />Through your white veil<br />I stole a glimpse<br />Of a fascinating amalgam<br />Of beauty and compassion;<br />A flowerbed<br />Of exclusive red roses<br />Of dewy-freshness,<br />Clad in a thin pall<br />Of a late winter snow<br />Of Kashmir Valley.<br /><br />Through your white veil<br />I had a glimpse<br />Of the last oasis<br />Of my life,<br />In the midst of<br />A harsh and fiery desert.<br />Through that white veil<br />I rejoiced the sight<br />Of a gorgeous painting,<br />Drawn by a ceremony <br />Of profound colours.<br /><br />Under the white veil<br />I again had a glimpse <br />Of a fairy of Ajanta fresco,<br />Full of exquisite tenderness<br />And love of beauty.<br />Yet, always with a suspicion<br />Of something deeper<br />And transcendental.<br /><br />Beneath the white veil<br />That embellished your face<br />Like a patch of snow cladding<br />The upper reaches of your abode,<br />I had a glimpse<br />Of your soil and scenery<br />Of reflection and reality<br />In full bloom.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-18730988058982592322011-07-31T22:59:00.000-07:002011-07-31T23:05:00.780-07:00Sun and Shadow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFUkd3QAOTrYdW_luroRhU0_oE6eDLRfU1Mls5HKuG5NQhNirOr7-GnB0AREF7RCUqYh1ueNSiQN7WjCIrW8Po32CI2uMQK7ZhDcOyYv13jP96FaQ82GcYUt7ac0ULZ-8yywveTlpv0s/s1600/000080059_icon.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 64px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFUkd3QAOTrYdW_luroRhU0_oE6eDLRfU1Mls5HKuG5NQhNirOr7-GnB0AREF7RCUqYh1ueNSiQN7WjCIrW8Po32CI2uMQK7ZhDcOyYv13jP96FaQ82GcYUt7ac0ULZ-8yywveTlpv0s/s320/000080059_icon.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635764520785802178" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Under the shadow<br />Of the sky,<br />I neither fancy<br />Nor relish<br />To ransack in vain<br />The ephemeral magnificence<br />Of a pied rainbow<br />Drawn on a broad canvas.<br /><br />Under the shadow <br />Of the same sky,<br />I am not ecstatically thrilled<br />To hear in futility<br />The music of the drip-drop clouds<br />Emitting an earthly odour.<br /><br />Rather without a grumble<br />Of any hue<br />I love to brave<br />The mid-summer sun<br />Of a blazing sky.<br /><br />While I damn care the sun,<br />All along I endeavour<br />To keep the shadow<br />In good humour<br />For, I know the shadow<br />And the shadow<br />Has the celestial potential<br />To eclipse the sun.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-3815036275537572922011-07-31T22:53:00.000-07:002011-07-31T22:55:58.711-07:00Nothingness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mrR0-rAKekZg3nkWhD22SxfB1PgqZeaT6KUurFEMKmnkd4yaDiEBHlkBiZyjhBkrTxt3-rk38R5cfQphBCnK2SnpdfQa6jxJynBWShrZ6mtZ1z8oWJa8iKRfa2Xwvk99Kkzo-JzLnhM/s1600/Dry_Leaf_1_by_rschallerdias.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mrR0-rAKekZg3nkWhD22SxfB1PgqZeaT6KUurFEMKmnkd4yaDiEBHlkBiZyjhBkrTxt3-rk38R5cfQphBCnK2SnpdfQa6jxJynBWShrZ6mtZ1z8oWJa8iKRfa2Xwvk99Kkzo-JzLnhM/s320/Dry_Leaf_1_by_rschallerdias.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635762011752727586" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Carefully crafted schemes<br />Seem to sink like a load<br />Into an abyss<br />Of weird anxiety.<br /><br />Ephemeral excitement<br />Seems to get extinguished<br />Like the fluttering flicker <br />Of a dying match-stick.<br /><br />Dream of a day<br />Like a dry leaf<br />Fails to take off<br />For, a clumsy evening<br />From nowhere<br />Overtakes it<br />Before the real sunset.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-1262922074134518412011-07-31T22:01:00.000-07:002011-07-31T22:52:02.665-07:00The Disjointed Kite<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10KUNtEwBV_mU6OUxYq69zImm3vjnwT5zkk0zSr-H9fF_QqaerGh0YkS-QfCeM3ulcig-0x6AXUCa-R3_qc27pc_B0YKpW2F0zLt92_cifVKcbnwrTiC7Kqw4ve-H3dIyRWypPCvS8qw/s1600/1969932042_3ea0e0845f_z.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10KUNtEwBV_mU6OUxYq69zImm3vjnwT5zkk0zSr-H9fF_QqaerGh0YkS-QfCeM3ulcig-0x6AXUCa-R3_qc27pc_B0YKpW2F0zLt92_cifVKcbnwrTiC7Kqw4ve-H3dIyRWypPCvS8qw/s320/1969932042_3ea0e0845f_z.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635761131175145330" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Spring winks from the icy-blanket<br />Of a long slumber,<br />Mildly tickling<br />The benumbed roots<br />Of a budding red-rose.<br /><br />Eternal mirth seems to peep out<br />From an elegantly packed<br />Chocolate box.<br /><br />From the deserted grove<br />The Nightingale<br />Echoes a happy note<br />For a one-time change.<br /><br />The brook murmurs.<br />The mountain breeze hisses.<br />And all species<br />Vegetative and winged<br />Seem to smile and flutter,<br />Whisper and gesture in the language<br />Of a virgin love-letter.<br /><br />I could definitely hear<br />Everyone, trivial and profound<br />Announce in a language<br />Loud and clear,<br />That on this Valentine Day<br />“Love is in the air”<br />And I thought<br />I should ground it.<br /><br />Fool that I was!<br />I grounded it and Love nosedived<br />Like a disjointed kite<br />On the blades<br />Of a thorny shrub<br />Grown on a rocky land.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-78349420827072662172011-07-31T21:52:00.000-07:002011-07-31T22:01:13.334-07:00Untitled<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyPVWdGVGWqZ1CPB9qV5LhJoy4ancU_AHFSyhlRqtuKogXf-_peLcY6ze59pX-DtsQ0BQJHYZk_x3Gv8x-XE5a-3cdzpnVLJ_M13WV59-RcQgxWFJLndLVp8kqsxD6lv-8BedUablM84/s1600/work.4668047.1.flat%252C135x135%252C075%252Ct.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidyPVWdGVGWqZ1CPB9qV5LhJoy4ancU_AHFSyhlRqtuKogXf-_peLcY6ze59pX-DtsQ0BQJHYZk_x3Gv8x-XE5a-3cdzpnVLJ_M13WV59-RcQgxWFJLndLVp8kqsxD6lv-8BedUablM84/s320/work.4668047.1.flat%252C135x135%252C075%252Ct.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635748058680048066" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Can you recall?<br />The hard words spoken,<br />The stern glances exchanged,<br />When you pinched me<br />Most uncharitably<br />On the left side<br />Of my chest?<br /><br />Then it caused nothing <br />Beyond a minor scratch<br />And I lost sight of it,<br />For during intimate moments<br />I was lost<br />In the togetherness<br />Of a cut-piece moon<br />In a starry-jungle.<br /><br />Do you know?<br />This Winter<br />The scratch reappeared.<br />The pain, revived and<br />A deep wound emerged<br />On my hairy chest?<br /><br />Because you were at it,<br />I have been taking extra care<br />To hide it under a fine skin<br />Like the hidden yolk<br />Of a hen’s egg that has <br />A regenerating potential<br />Which recurs in solitude.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-42195305377449547012011-07-31T21:49:00.001-07:002011-07-31T21:50:52.398-07:00Unnamed Biography<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaBWyZNURXsQXtPhKcgILwpaBcToYkoQSTjpcZnhg02gCE4Xlx_aJwPYp5wohEmOLKJ7DZgG2RTzYiYV0ClV0faWR8Z7K-MMIRU81ACf92tAobohmXeuJgLWE10mpOBtwvvQlTDWnEFc/s1600/spider"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaBWyZNURXsQXtPhKcgILwpaBcToYkoQSTjpcZnhg02gCE4Xlx_aJwPYp5wohEmOLKJ7DZgG2RTzYiYV0ClV0faWR8Z7K-MMIRU81ACf92tAobohmXeuJgLWE10mpOBtwvvQlTDWnEFc/s320/spider" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635745231103755026" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I am transfixed<br />Like a spider<br />At the epicentre<br />Of the web of a bunch<br />Of beaten moments,<br />Untouched by the reality<br />Of time and space.<br /><br />Quite often<br />I find it funny<br />And deeply ridiculous<br />To unknot and tidy<br />The same beaten moments<br />That lie like a heap<br />Of tangled threads<br />With invisible beginnings<br />And no visible ends.<br /><br />I know not why<br />A statuesque calmness<br />Has rendered me speechless<br />On a ruined panorama<br />Of succeeding desire and despair.<br /><br />I have been treading<br />Through the time present<br />With a rhythmic synergy,<br />By elbowing aside<br />The lived past<br />Into the black and white pages<br />Of an unnamed biography.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-48582767183649610542011-07-20T22:51:00.000-07:002011-07-20T22:55:46.669-07:00Topsy- Turvy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaEObn0w6jEMBKIcDLPrqFKn3cxKlD2faZJwjuj-gPfOYYkcXxF7WvX5P5QxhM7wJOtdh_xki1MTd0inh5R3qfr3HEAOBQitHqURJAZEs2YJ3q-vw1CDDKC_h8sputLgldaLHe2H6mmw/s1600/upside-down-tree-kelly-kinder.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaEObn0w6jEMBKIcDLPrqFKn3cxKlD2faZJwjuj-gPfOYYkcXxF7WvX5P5QxhM7wJOtdh_xki1MTd0inh5R3qfr3HEAOBQitHqURJAZEs2YJ3q-vw1CDDKC_h8sputLgldaLHe2H6mmw/s320/upside-down-tree-kelly-kinder.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631680187463589330" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ere I could lift the violet<br />From the western sky<br />With my slender brush<br />To paint a splendid sunset,<br />A dark horse<br />Came galloping<br />From the far east<br />And trampled the canvas<br />Under its blind hoofs.<br /><br />Ere I could merrily hum<br />With the home-coming sparrows<br />The familiar chirping melody,<br />The great Himalayan frost<br />Of the icy-north<br />Rendered them dumb.<br /><br />Ere I could compose in my poetry<br />The infant-smile<br />Of an early bud,<br />The icy-claws<br />Of mid- December<br />Ravished my garden<br />Into a pathetic insignificance<br />Of bruised stems<br />And bleeding twigs.<br /><br />Ere I could confide with you<br />The opening chapter<br />Of my unfinished autobiography,<br />The thick hairline<br />On my tender forehead<br />Receded like the ebbing waves<br />Of a vanquished tide,<br />Leaving the sandy shore<br />Of erased foot-prints<br />And scattered shells.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-26999285016790839432011-07-20T22:40:00.001-07:002011-07-20T22:50:45.486-07:00Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhq8APMcl2vOZ-8DXzCaHDHjE8c5vkVV6IGmmjYWQHVYaPXwnyBWyRgxNHN3Ef21cl0C2MNUZAlO8hUyILYzQhH3lVO7FeJmdH8i1JurOmaEfY6Phoit4sphKtIj0Odh0I6aYzBTWI8w/s1600/eyetime.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhq8APMcl2vOZ-8DXzCaHDHjE8c5vkVV6IGmmjYWQHVYaPXwnyBWyRgxNHN3Ef21cl0C2MNUZAlO8hUyILYzQhH3lVO7FeJmdH8i1JurOmaEfY6Phoit4sphKtIj0Odh0I6aYzBTWI8w/s320/eyetime.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631678924039924450" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I am stranded <br />At the centre<br />Of a sprawling round-about<br />Even as Time resolves<br />In the visible pace<br />Of the seconds hand<br />On my old wrist-watch.<br /><br />They say,<br />They have seen<br />Time crawling<br />Like a soiled infant<br />On the earthen floor<br />Of their neighbour’s courtyard.<br /><br />During my youth<br />I have seen Time<br />From the spectator’s gallery,<br />Running with the exuberance<br />Of an able athlete<br />On a hundred-metre-track.<br /><br />Now Time has mellowed<br />Like my beloved grandma<br />Into a handful of<br />Crumpled anatomy,<br />Squeezed to the core<br />Like a piece of ice-cube,<br />In the bewildered eyes<br />Of her grandson.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-79354351272754736072011-07-20T22:39:00.002-07:002011-07-20T22:48:22.676-07:00Three make a crowd<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfG_Ibakn02n1NON4aLAGoYcrqD7lUm9tEQQjyepYnU2yI0C6Xo3lbvRSNKgQXA9WtluD3wuYNaatt3pntCvF7SmETzBIkJeDYsudDnwD_M8vzDRthQRRM0CLZU2-K1dwZQrR-MYKnAU/s1600/5760999-meeting-of-the-guy-and-the-girl-under-the-moon.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 168px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfG_Ibakn02n1NON4aLAGoYcrqD7lUm9tEQQjyepYnU2yI0C6Xo3lbvRSNKgQXA9WtluD3wuYNaatt3pntCvF7SmETzBIkJeDYsudDnwD_M8vzDRthQRRM0CLZU2-K1dwZQrR-MYKnAU/s320/5760999-meeting-of-the-guy-and-the-girl-under-the-moon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631678238021120434" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />If you nod<br />To my rose,<br />How easy it is for me<br />To plough the earth<br />And dot it all over<br />With a multitude.<br /><br />If you consent<br />To live with me,<br />How happy<br />I shall be to build<br />A palace in mid-air<br />Above my thatched roof.<br /><br />If only you wish<br />To listen to my sonnet,<br />How easy it is for me<br />To compose an epic<br />Of million couplets<br />And recite it for you<br />Under a moon-lit sky,<br />When you and I<br />Make a company<br />And the moon a crowd.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-51530585071133423432011-07-20T22:39:00.001-07:002011-07-20T22:46:24.254-07:00The Bell that tolls<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJY2CeH0zTFs-GAKF5WIpnWFf59EoN2Vvjpf1aERoH_J_YsEZdC9vJOgoJFKZJQ7oavNBcbtEhkvkez-rizC6bWgapfTZ7Jz0ygdUFoHdzSUfDP4pjhqZT6uifcN_dxcabhAbfV5P7BOQ/s1600/for-whom-the-bell-tolls.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJY2CeH0zTFs-GAKF5WIpnWFf59EoN2Vvjpf1aERoH_J_YsEZdC9vJOgoJFKZJQ7oavNBcbtEhkvkez-rizC6bWgapfTZ7Jz0ygdUFoHdzSUfDP4pjhqZT6uifcN_dxcabhAbfV5P7BOQ/s320/for-whom-the-bell-tolls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631677031034522002" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A multitude of shooting stars,<br />Befalling on a placid harbour<br />In an alien land,<br />Render the brave hearts<br />Into sitting ducks<br />That leaves me in knee-deep tears.<br /><br />A lonesome jasmine<br />Spilling out<br />From a sultry landscape,<br />Soaked by early monsoon<br />Drives me crazy<br />For the scent<br />Of the curly tresses<br />Sprouted on her nape.<br /><br />With a wink-less gaze<br />I look for the Northern Star<br />In the midst of a multitude<br />That shall guide me<br />From the wilderness<br />To a safe shore.<br /><br />The bell that tolls intermittently<br />Atop the dome,<br />Echoing through the<br />Cobwebbed corridors of my being,<br />Drags me to the doorstep<br />Of the city cathedral.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-11486934229447679192011-07-20T21:14:00.000-07:002011-07-20T22:29:16.366-07:00Return Journey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMK07R8tDzgvNy5Gv6pAMqomQZ5c-bddGJhVwCW4RCgTb0IJJBrroV0i5PtPrUoOxYPkqF4JrJbMrpbdw9PhNod64rQfaqC4cduEb-2xGhmON6FL2IhK2e-U91qQPse_eHvPez9nfYkM/s1600/Ostrau_-_ulice_28_rijna_in_the_evening.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMK07R8tDzgvNy5Gv6pAMqomQZ5c-bddGJhVwCW4RCgTb0IJJBrroV0i5PtPrUoOxYPkqF4JrJbMrpbdw9PhNod64rQfaqC4cduEb-2xGhmON6FL2IhK2e-U91qQPse_eHvPez9nfYkM/s320/Ostrau_-_ulice_28_rijna_in_the_evening.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631673279828369602" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Desire gets burnt into ashes<br />In an internal combustion<br />Of a blunt-faced<br />Suburban locomotive,<br />Screeching on the rails<br />To the oily doorsteps<br />Of the city brothel.<br /><br />Intermittent giggles<br />Of a bunch of naked innocence<br />Emanate from the dense slums<br />Along the tracks<br />And slimy animals bask on the furrow<br />Of the black mud<br />In indolent sexuality.<br /><br />In broad day-light<br />The popular woman<br />Of the city,<br />In her cosmetic cell,<br />Pines for the scent<br />Of fresh strawberries.<br /><br />The setting Sun ejaculates<br />Dull rays at six,<br />Forming a strange silhouette<br />Of a faceless crowd<br />On the concrete road<br />Of the metropolis.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-67662204206704181442011-07-20T21:13:00.000-07:002011-07-20T22:32:47.307-07:00Rebirth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoBgFMzeHcldcoIqcEtgITrReC2vEovpygRbgqD4SM1qGCkvkNFk9jF3KVYO5DSp7YM53GXZeBe28mDQjxFRxp4ejrpQmEW4BLcAsqmzPBXrUjYCDre0ESHHzTaDeGXAAlo07MLUjwtM/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoBgFMzeHcldcoIqcEtgITrReC2vEovpygRbgqD4SM1qGCkvkNFk9jF3KVYO5DSp7YM53GXZeBe28mDQjxFRxp4ejrpQmEW4BLcAsqmzPBXrUjYCDre0ESHHzTaDeGXAAlo07MLUjwtM/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631654140889176610" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A hearty elation sets in<br />At the sight<br />Of a closing sunset<br />That shines like the glaze<br />Of a live-pyre<br />Across the river.<br /><br />I am thrilled all over <br />By the cool breath<br />Of a clear and present ecstasy,<br />Never felt before.<br /><br />I am hardly curious<br />And never nervous<br />About the temporary flickers<br />Of a cluster of glow-worms<br />Intermittently winking<br />Around the village cemetery.<br /><br />No more I scream<br />At the sight of a coffin<br />Full of unshed tears<br />And abstract remains<br />Of my premature dreams<br />Awaiting a quite burial.<br /><br />Through the smoke-curtain<br />Of a leafless autumn twilight<br />I distinctly visualize<br />In the remote sky<br />An orphaned-star<br />Pining for the warmth<br />And security<br />Of a mother’s womb.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-6909286002353617102011-07-20T21:02:00.000-07:002011-07-20T21:08:03.223-07:00Permission<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mAMj-o0HfMTAIsuSxwAopjnJpf3x75eTa0ndGo1ypBF5w7yXu3TpfE9tjbdrciab1tyD1I7MXrRKQcACI1NUjX_nh5NqnPowLo0d3hPSWMRmjesfy5IRBQqf48FZrFRdigwatWhZeBc/s1600/what-is-love.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mAMj-o0HfMTAIsuSxwAopjnJpf3x75eTa0ndGo1ypBF5w7yXu3TpfE9tjbdrciab1tyD1I7MXrRKQcACI1NUjX_nh5NqnPowLo0d3hPSWMRmjesfy5IRBQqf48FZrFRdigwatWhZeBc/s320/what-is-love.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631652215829975906" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Bound by an ancient habit,<br />On every dawn of my village<br />The Sun of my childhood <br />Rises on his own.<br />From the violet<br />Over my village cemetery<br /><br />As usual<br />During an unusually sultry monsoon<br />The rustic clouds<br />Pour themselves out<br />Over my village earth<br />Unmindful of her necessities.<br /><br />During a forlorn<br />And tired twilight,<br />The remote stars<br />Dreamy and subtle,<br />Yet distinctly familiar<br />Even to my ancestors,<br />Sleep-walk on to<br />The dark canvas<br />Forming a celestial pattern.<br /><br />Traditionally <br />Wild and passionate,<br />The spring flows<br />From the usual direction<br />Of my cousin’s village<br />On the Basanta Panchami Day<br />Year after year.<br /><br />Flying from nowhere to perch<br />On the dark bough<br />Of the old banyan tree<br />In my backyard,<br />The lonesome cuckoo<br />Pours out his soul<br />Without waiting for the chorus.<br /><br />The passionate jasmine<br />My mother planted<br />In our garden<br />Gets impatient to bloom out<br />Its nocturnal fragrance<br />For whomsoever it may concern.<br /><br />This being so in and around me,<br />Should I wait for your permission<br />To spell out the vibrations of my heart?The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-81657802082213279222011-01-18T00:57:00.000-08:002011-01-18T01:21:28.426-08:00The Perennial touch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTwxNqzZ-l8X-dexTuUsRehqOKctdl13cNg2YLBYmlkBGHhK-A9DCjEyqQRw9Axkg9LRioQlQMkQimnGa_s1e6cAo_dWW6agks8laJ_dieLG8zGpVKImOtRboe_LrLgonH8NLD-Sd8-Q/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTwxNqzZ-l8X-dexTuUsRehqOKctdl13cNg2YLBYmlkBGHhK-A9DCjEyqQRw9Axkg9LRioQlQMkQimnGa_s1e6cAo_dWW6agks8laJ_dieLG8zGpVKImOtRboe_LrLgonH8NLD-Sd8-Q/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563453453016725618" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Beyond the horizon<br />The sun was<br />Dragging his feet<br />On the trodden path,<br />When darkness<br />Overtook the evening<br />And its dullness as well.<br /><br />I was in a hurry<br />To reach you<br />Even while the day’s dust<br />Had hardly settled<br />On my bald head.<br /><br />A nervous uncertainty <br />Gripped me<br />Like the tentacles<br />Of a vengeful octopus<br />In the sea of urban humanity.<br /><br />You were kind enough<br />To greet me at the doorstep<br />With a smile,<br />Having strong elements<br />Of an algebraic equation<br />For my flat mind.<br /><br />We sat face to face<br />In the rented drawing room sofa<br />When the tired ceiling fan<br />Was rotating its wings<br />Most reluctantly.<br /><br />My eyes quickly ran around:<br />The brass decoration on the wall<br />Carrying loads of appreciation<br />Due to a work of art,<br />Had an obscure shine on it<br />And was hanging precariously<br />Like a patch of snow<br />On a broken wall.<br /><br />The room got choked<br />By our silence.<br />The scent of<br />Those plastic roses<br />In your designed vase<br />Was too much for me.<br /><br />But in their midst<br />You were a picture perfect<br />Of quintessential beauty<br />An object of my desire benign.<br /><br />“Can I touch you?” I said<br />And touched you perennially<br />Like the sky kissing the earth<br />Beyond the seas.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-8021758401872195792011-01-18T00:50:00.000-08:002011-01-20T00:59:23.151-08:00My Maiden Flight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU2qNEad1tao-jfwZFM1aVvK20U9cCtqO0qlqleE64zhXsw4B-rqnh-e5UMdW86ERQaqYggNWH-DuxZgyOZ0OtE1JPVqbiusSNa_iVvczRqLXbvfi-iyiwVtUqrqUJHaT1Fr0j-1Nw8ZE/s1600/12249250-md.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU2qNEad1tao-jfwZFM1aVvK20U9cCtqO0qlqleE64zhXsw4B-rqnh-e5UMdW86ERQaqYggNWH-DuxZgyOZ0OtE1JPVqbiusSNa_iVvczRqLXbvfi-iyiwVtUqrqUJHaT1Fr0j-1Nw8ZE/s320/12249250-md.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563447002682699618" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Very often I smell <br />A temporary breath<br />Of a petal of hope<br />Getting evaporated <br />Into the vacuum<br />Under my nose.<br /><br />When love<br />Like a solitary drop<br />Seeps through<br />The unseen pores<br />Of a sandy bed<br />Of a dreary desert.<br /><br />Trust gets twisted<br />At its crucial joints<br />Like the tender bones<br />Of a still-born babe<br />In the murky corridors<br />Of a tiny coffin.<br /><br />Lo! <br />After my maiden flight<br />I land on your courtyard<br />Like a petrified swan<br />With broken wings<br />And bleeding dreams.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-7964774315933042792011-01-18T00:46:00.000-08:002011-01-20T01:00:22.883-08:00Mislead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHROjiMCF2bbrYqIbV_MHemY2WMUsGuZdccT7oxAgml0aHYwFDq_Y2UB-A56JCMZ8ApSvdvzwIfoV9u2WNk78Kvq2yoJjJF7mJqZKAOa8OVozcjYC2X-3hFPEFjZxLvvFnVGplP5kMDU/s1600/2170404912_c05eb902a6.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHROjiMCF2bbrYqIbV_MHemY2WMUsGuZdccT7oxAgml0aHYwFDq_Y2UB-A56JCMZ8ApSvdvzwIfoV9u2WNk78Kvq2yoJjJF7mJqZKAOa8OVozcjYC2X-3hFPEFjZxLvvFnVGplP5kMDU/s320/2170404912_c05eb902a6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563445500549623330" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Even the dictates of almanac<br />Mislead the sacred course<br />Of the holy Ganges<br />Into the arid zones<br />Of the sandy pasture of Thar<br />For a smell of vegetation.<br /><br />Sundari smiles<br />While hanging like <br />A dried up saree from<br />The balcony string<br />Of her dingy cell on West Avenue,<br />For she offers an eye-contact<br />To the tattered frame of<br />A cycle-rickshaw below.<br /><br />After a casual copulation<br />When the domesticated sparrow<br />Flies into the blue<br />Leaving her in pregnant deception.<br />Strange,<br />She still collects dry twigs<br />To build a dream,<br />To lay eggs<br />And brood in incubation!The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-44678127395631708812011-01-18T00:30:00.000-08:002011-01-18T00:45:06.129-08:00Here and Now<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0eUVi6OQXwcEJuItAuJ46qSJXi1M3cl9st0QWLIjU7qSdSt0O0Uw7e4dcV84gdMPTotMwRpq12hp2BQzkzqMi2uRHVWsOKBMVxWdoOTg6FHQWQmW7XS0PFH33ZZvK2k1y1_YWePxkPk/s1600/key-of-love-735135.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0eUVi6OQXwcEJuItAuJ46qSJXi1M3cl9st0QWLIjU7qSdSt0O0Uw7e4dcV84gdMPTotMwRpq12hp2BQzkzqMi2uRHVWsOKBMVxWdoOTg6FHQWQmW7XS0PFH33ZZvK2k1y1_YWePxkPk/s320/key-of-love-735135.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563444050085287458" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I adore your loveliness<br />Within the boundaries<br />Of my ordinary eyes,<br />Within the bounds<br />Of an unbound ocean,<br />Within the reach<br />Of a receding horizon.<br /><br />I hear your words of beauty <br />Within the audible range<br />Of my mortal ears,<br />For your words reverberate<br />Long after you speak<br />On the inner walls of my soul.<br /><br />I smell your passionate breath<br />With the certitude<br />Of an irrepressible jasmine,<br />For I am not the Himalayan deer<br />To be misled by my own musk.<br /><br />I love you<br />With the immediacy<br />Of here and now,<br />For I know not<br />What lies beyond<br />Or beneath.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609146922947209118.post-18968125357114982452011-01-17T23:51:00.000-08:002011-01-20T01:01:41.525-08:00Tonic - Touch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC0F6n-Mav_dR1QL26oDO7RfITuz3eMHJLigwUPKS5F7mcrHdegBoXyUG0DAIEKh8GYxcXdKVElVUD7er84iMThec2J-gHTTM93yfHUWD91PI3tcogAluZIUiCypj5FTYkcHorKhZvPk/s1600/abstract-colorsofparadise.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC0F6n-Mav_dR1QL26oDO7RfITuz3eMHJLigwUPKS5F7mcrHdegBoXyUG0DAIEKh8GYxcXdKVElVUD7er84iMThec2J-gHTTM93yfHUWD91PI3tcogAluZIUiCypj5FTYkcHorKhZvPk/s320/abstract-colorsofparadise.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563440172499319394" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />When I gaze<br />In an uneasy anticipation<br />At your face from the terrace,<br />All that I see<br />Is a pair of wide open eyes<br />Following me against <br />The blue background of the sky.<br /><br />In a moment’s time<br />Your eyes gain <br />A benign dimension<br />And encompass me<br />With an ease,<br />And lift my agony<br />As if it were a quill.<br /><br />Your words,<br />As sweet as you are,<br />Embalm my bruised frame<br />And fiery spirit in no time.<br /><br />Your tonic-touch<br />Served with the compassion<br />Of a lovely angle<br />Holds my injured being <br />With the intimacy<br />Of a divine fragrance<br />That clings to the flowers of the valley.<br /><br />From a pair of exclusive eyes<br />Your healing vision<br />Clasps my soul<br />With the softness<br />Of a summer drizzle<br />On fine desert-sands.The Grass Flowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445935769815076523noreply@blogger.com0