Thursday, 23 February 2017

Je crois en quelque chose

quelque chose qui est très petit(e),
une particule obscure.
Une particule qui
ne se voit pas,
ne se sentent pas,
et
ne peux pas être goûté.
C'est à l'intérieur de ton âme,
je parle, mon âme, ton âme.
Pourquoi tout est si vague?

Thursday, 19 January 2017

- So yeah

- what?
- so yeah
- what?
- the war
- what?
- the world war
- you're crazy
- think so?
- wanna bet?
- the war boy, the war, hellyeah do
- well shoot ye'self
- man, oh man.

Three American soldiers lie half-buried in the sand at Buna Beach on New Guinea. This photo was taken in February 1943, but not published until September, when it became the first image of dead American troops to appear in LIFE during World War II. George Strock's photo was finally OK'd by government censors, in part because FDR feared the public was growing complacent about the war's horrific toll.

Monday, 16 January 2017

Jawans

There are our jawans, brave but tarnished
On the frontiers and Siachen glacier, they toil and spend.

Months of varying temperature shower upon them
Yet they stand with immunity and what with their grace!

Yes, now, few do peek at the nameless question:
They, no doubt have a family; their children must be proud?

It sparkles very commonly now: India and Pakistan
Brothers but bloody brothers, sigh, what future intends us?

Their truth, our truth; claims and disclaims; fiction and non-fiction
If this is what we are headed to, we cannot be better dressed.

Deep hurt. Who is so much? Government? People? Paper or trees?
No. Would not so much hurt us straight. Later. The children on the horizon.

Peace and harmony is the solution; much heard, goes unseen.
They sacrifice, we deliver only for happy sleep and avarice.

Debates, blame-politics, insufferable-confronts, tweets, comments
Pour and out-pour. The gloom over us, to be extinguished
Is only fumed further.

Saturday, 14 January 2017

I fell in love

but I never told
sat back—
and wrote morose.
I was romantic
from the beginning
nobody noticed,
sat back—
and they labeled me stupid.
How it changes,
how everything changes,
you do not see it
neither do you feel,
you just look back
and wonder how different it is.
I asked—
why be so reflective?
life is meant and needs must be,
accept or deflect
or straightaway be a fugitive.
How factual,
how practical
it is
today;
I love you,
I love you too, babe:
End scene.

Sunday, 1 January 2017

Rajmachi Trek

In mist and drizzle
On rugged mountains of Sahyadris
Dew from leaves did trickle
We walked away
The path ahead unclear.

The ground was seething
With greenish turf
Cliff, at all times teasing
Beckoning forward
Dare did not we, freezing.

Flooded with Sonki, Wild flowers
With waterfalls we took selfies
The paranormal wind, mind-blower
Maggie-junctions and laid-back foreigners
Our spirits did tower.

Many a balance gave away
When we tread on grease
And boulders heavy.
To photograph every beguile
I did long tarry.

Our mouths blew smoke
Chill outstripped us
Bare were we, lacking cloaks
Accomplished our feat
With feet tire-soaked.

A Marathi house welcomed us
With rice, chapatti, lentils
Group was in general buzz
I moaned at the taste
We did not part without fuss.

Same pursued path
Awaited us, seemed longer
Climbing down was apace
Chikkis, sugar-coated chocolates
Devoured; trains headed us home
Kissed goodbyes, murmuring
“This memory will last.”




Sunday, 27 November 2016

Myriad

A land of villages, religions,
Festivals, shrines and youth.
From Narendra Modi to Rahul Gandhi
Pompous politics and piercing poverty
Everything you can find here
None can you fail to spot.

Bustling Bhojpuri to Kannadigas
To vulnerable Meithei and Mizo
Eight hundred and eighty languages
In twenty-nine states, packed with
Beliefs, attitudes, norms and karma.

From rooted misogyny to fierce feminism
Women politics and CEOs to glorified dowry
Everything was cultivated here
Things merged into sub-things
Goddesses worshipped, devadasis dismissed.

On caste commotion, Aryans blamed
Superior to suppress, fear of flame, exposure
These days, Brahmins also loud-speaker
Reservations, and more reservations
Youth only to sit back and bleat?

Lauded startups to screeching schools
Grinning faces of children, incandescent
Hope, hope do we
There subsists so many mores and folks
Who, when, where, and what do you
Find elsewhere which is so much here?

Saturday, 26 November 2016

A Disgraceful Shadow


Then 'tis ought to be
Past me, behind me
Sideways, left and right.

Lurking, yes it does inside me
Inside and out
Mocking my stature
Black, dull black—

Want to hold it and hold
So tight, it tears from me
Tracks own path.

Liverish, when I look down
Intently it walks and walks
And stops when stops
Who are you?

Hair-brained Physics
Makes a tainted mixture out of it
Enlightens us, does it not
With metallic theories?

Shadow escorts
In violence, friendlessness
A vestige.

That splotch on mud
Who cares?
Fruitless stalker!