Finally a real poem (the title is justified you'll know after you read....so BETTER READ)

I want to write I want to write
But this darned work sched is tight

So much to say and so many talks
Day light blues and moon light walks

But hey hey hey, please don't go away
I beg you to read, I beg you to stay

If you comment that would be great too
After all my readers are but a few

I promise to try and write up something new
Not only crib, bawl, and make you blue

Now thats been a real hard attempt to rhyme
I know it sounds shitty, but do I care a dime ;-)

PS: While I gave myself all the airs , (of course for no logical reason or credits), to be a serious poet, who deeply touched the chord of the few readers who read my posts more out of OK lets return the favor factor, one 'cool dude' or so he thinks himself to be, very intelligently (again he thinks so) pointed out, "Monica you write and all that OK, some of it does make sense too granted, but then these are not poems yaar. You seem to be mistaken somewhere, you see poems HAVE TO rhyme.".......So here is to my very intellectual friend (he does not follow sarcasm so I can call him a friend...he he wicked smile - is there an emoticon for this?????)......a real sincere attempt at bad rhyme. All nasty comments are welcome, though am sure to get one that says finally you understood what is poetry....fancy doing MA Lit and not knowing that. Dumb dumb Monica!

-A very desperate and fast losing patience with the world: Mon

Shattered, Scarred, Scathed

I was wandering through my lost world,
But at some point I slipped; unknown, unawares, oblivious.
A thousand pieces shattered on the scarred floor.
From the deep blues, I looked into my mirror,
A distorted image reflected back.

My once light transparent eyes are now charred and dead.
The fair skin now tainted with deep dark circles into which my eyes are drowning slowly but surely.
The smile a trace of a faint dark shadow.
The tears a seamless stain.

I stink.
Every part of me aches, pains, hurts.
There are cobwebs all over me.
Everything within bleeds and everything without is scathed.

Cold water cleansing proves futile in purifying.
Any touch makes the wounds burn.
The attempt to heal only causes more blisters that prick.

I am trying to pick each scattered piece and put it back to where it belonged,
A mismatched jigsaw is the result.

-Monica

Thoughts at Gandhi Ghat (Barrackpore, Calcutta)

Without even a ripple or the slightest surge of waves, the seamless stretch of water radiated absolute calm and peace. It was steady and in a sense self as well as all containing. I quickly dissolved into its serenity. A few inches above, the sky grayed out casting its shadows on the shimmering transparency. The sadness of the grey was being healed by the acceptance of the blues. I stood rooted to the steps that led into the waters and kept gazing for what seemed like timeless hours at this merging of pain and acceptability. I was overcome with a deep sense of poise and the stillness was a balm of reassurance. I envied them both, the letting go of the skies and the open embrace of the waters. Why was I holding on? Who would embrace the melting me? In answer, a lonesome boat bobbed in the middle of the mystic waters headed in no particular direction thereby blanketing my futility with some solace. Suddenly all seemed well with the insane world. Maybe nothing would matter anymore. And all of this with mere acceptance. So I stood there ready to accept, accept the moment, accept the day, the hour, the situation, the circumstances, you as you, me as me, and the us that would never be – I stood there gazing at and accepting life as is and would be.
As if the gospel truth revealed, the grey clouds parted and an orange sunset sprinkled its reds in scatters, arousing mixed emotions of longing, desperation, pain, and yet a new hope. The sun set with all glory and grace and deepened the agony within and yet made me smile without. The dying rays somehow instilled a little hope, a hope that was mine alone. A hope, which belonged only to me. My hope was fragile, brittle, weak, but nevertheless something to look forward to. I would need to nurture and nourish it within my heart, all by myself. I would not share this hope with another; I would not require another to make me believe in myself, no one to make me dream, no one to put me together and no one to break me to nothingness. The moist breeze caressing my face felt comforting even though irrepressible tears flowed giving me the inherent strength I had lost these many days.
I closed my eyes ready to dream my grey-blue dreams again.
Gandhi Ghat, Barrackpore, Calcutta, July 13, 06.45 pm
-Mon

Take them all away!

I steal the wishes and desires from the secret folds of my heart
And let them slip away quietly into the colorless voids

I open my eyes forcibly
And let each dream die silently

I take all my joys, my hopes, my colors
And I give them all to you
The smiles, the sunshine, the rainbows

Each of it and all of it is now yours

The golden-yellows of the lazy fresh sun-ups

The orange-reds of the serene mystic sun-downs

The rusty-browns of the brazen wild winds

The slate-grays of the drenching swallowing downpours

The silvery-whites of the crescent melting moon

…And the blazing-ambers of the passion-full togetherness

But tell me also who do I give-

The echoes of our laughter?

The silhouettes of our imaginations?

The moisture of my tears?

The shadows of my solitude?

….And the nothingness that is me?

Mon

Kahin door jab...

"kabhi to ye dil kahin mil nahi pate
kahin se nikal aaye janmo ke nate
ghani si ulzhan, bairi apna man
apna hi hoke sahe dard paraye"

.....few of the most beautiul lines that ring truer every time I hear them. I hear them now and I cry ceaselessly. I love my lonliness and smile effortlessly. I feel a heavniess encompassing me and yet it feels strangely calming. Maybe being aloof also means being free. Too many thoughts ruuning through my mind at the moment, I find it difficult to express anything. The moments melt away in the melody of the music. I dissolve into the space and I do not exist or maybe I do not want to exist. For some reason the last desire has died too. I gaze into the flickering flame of the candle and seek solace in its diminishing. I know that is what I want to be, I want to be a candle, to flicker and dwindle away, with memories of lighting up the darkness and yet leaving no trace in brightness. I hold my palm over the dying flame, the burn feels soothing. I enclose the warmth in my fist and feel the strength growing in me. I look into the mirror and smile feeling fulfilled and at peace with my numbness.

-Monica

Shadows of A Morn'

A stale morning dawned today
It carried over the broken shards of the lonely night

The weakened breeze was loaded with the desperation of emptiness
And the sunrays only spilt its lonesome melody everywhere

The whiff of bitter salts saturated the air
Filling each breath with the sting of void

I opened my eyes to the moaning clouds
And the dark hues cast by the bereft skies

Accustomed to the embrace of murky nights and inherent nothingness
I welcomed the broken morning with an amused smile

And now the day just passes on, each moment enwrapped in the obscured ache
With enraptures of silent tears being the only signs of acceptance

Weary of the resurrection
A morning today yearns for the eternal sunset

-Monica

A Permanent Split...

The dip in the ice cold blues was refreshing. It helped clear the cob webs in my head or so I felt, at least then. I decided to take the lazy walk home and give myself some more clear thinking time. The cool evening breeze made me shiver a wee bit, what with the body still attuned to the water and strokes. Light headed and warmed and cold equally I dragged each step towards the road that took me home.

Little did I realize that imagination was already spinning its silken grey threads and weaving new cobwebs for me. Lost in my neverland, I was jolted back to reality at the touch of what felt like dead snake skin brushing against my feet. The front wheel of the bike nearly did or maybe actually did touch my feet, while I could still hear the screeching of the brakes. OK so this was it, I had blindly crossed the road until I found myself heading straight into the bike. I shut myself mentally to let the abuse and anger pour out. But there was silence and it was the calmness that made me look up. A stark contrast to my empty eyes, dark circles, and tanned face was a clear, bright, and smiling one staring back at me. A face that smiles and spreads smile like my good ol’ monk. My lips cracked into something akin but I found it difficult to say thank you, maybe because there was this buried sense of regret at the miss. Our eyes locked for a fraction of a second, a tryst of life and death. It was difficult to break the contact and move on. The sudden honking of horns was enough to break the spell. I don’t know how long the moment lasted, a few minutes, a second, a split second….but it made a permanent impact.

I clutched the nothingness in my fists tightly and moved on with my head high. I could feel the gaze bore into the back of my neck, but I did not turn back. I moved on. I could sense my god speeding away too, to never come back.

-Mon

Home Coming!

I am home finally after a month long gap...yes one month is long enough when you stay only 200km or 4 hours train journey away from home. I was in the classic to go or not to go dilemma until I boarded the train and as always am glad I have come.

Ma ke haath ka bana khana and Dal-Chawal at that is a perfect welcome. The weather here is perfectly romantic, pleasant and has made me all dreamy. It is sad that I am working from home and my shift is not yet over (that I am blogging quite explains how much I like my work!!!)

While I must be grateful to ma for the lovely food and daddy for his nonsense jokes, my stress busters.......I am actually thankful really to my me time here. I have increasingly started feeling a concern that I am not spending time with myself. So here is an evening to I, me, myself!

I'll go swimming and ctach a cold. Walk uphill to the sunset point on temple hill and court my imaginary love while feeling the moist and angry wind caressing and scathing equally. Wish a million times we could be together holding hands looking at the sun set with all its golden-orange hues..... and then walk back alone with a heavy heart and poetry in making mentally.

The sound of silence on the walk back and a million thoughts will come crowding my mind, all until it just stops and I walk back bang into the middle of the bazaar. Shopping and eating cannot be off the agenda, even if it is just small nothings and good ol' paani puri and yes the mango ice cream certainly lifts the spirits now, doesn't it :-)

Back home to some mom-daugther talk, a delicious dinner (i know already it is sabudana kitchdi - why does ma have to immer pretend she does not love me...my fav dishes being cooked says it all ma, stop being the kid, will ya?), tel maalish by expert daddy (yes yes I make my dad oil my hair still and guess what feel great about it too!), the mid-night coffee made stealthily and the final curling up with a book........a perfect friday.

Time to logoff and take the dip now, don't you agree?

I fall short of words and expressions, am just so happy and at peace with the chaos within and the poise outside.

-Monica

Buzz Off!

I am sick and tired and really speaking very angry with the entire bright, ever smiling, practical, and mostly self-designated wise clan of the world. Yes whatever. When I talk to you I feel I am reading a general knowledge book or the daily newspaper, where for your kind information most of the content is fudged and churned to convenience.

If all you can think of when the first showers of rains drench and cleanse equally, is the water cycle, the water table and all those hydro words and phrases, thank you very much, I learnt all of it in class 4 and then most decidedly gave up Science to take up Arts, just in case you did not know. So when it rains, I will stick to nostalgia, reminiscence, cuppa coffee and you are welcome not to join in. In fact I will only be glad to court my loneliness and charm my romantic heart and soul.

No I cannot be an action-reaction theory round the clock, there is something beyond me too, yes I love to step into other’s shoes and feel their pain, wipe their tears and then end up crying in their lap. Please stop finding reasons in the how, where, and why of me. I am OK being me, I am OK not having an identity, I am OK with being an insignificant mere mortal who has no accolades or medals to boast of, who never topped a university, who never wrote or danced or sang worth a record. I am OK wearing my old, ill-fitting, but makes me feel comfortable clothes and not get looked at even once, forget twice. I like looking at me in the mirror still, and guess what I can face myself, which is my litmus test and as long as I stand true to it I know I am OK.

I don’t boast of having read the critical writers of the old English or the post modern era, I read my share of Shantarams and I am absolutely beguiled by Hardy and Lawrence and they make me reach the penumbra and pinnacle equally, but you know what it is MY CHOICE and I LIKE IT THAT WAY. And yes I still listen to Sufi music and try to count the beats of Ek Taal in a tarana or thumri, which I know is passé by all your modern standards, but that is what makes me smile and that is what makes me jump up in glee and swirl around in a mystic ( and yes mystic is my fav word and I will use it in each of my post, I don't need your permission) trance. And guess what I do not what an audience. I am happy keeping myself me company.

I refuse, absolutely refuse to have any further discussions on this point. I will eat boiled aloo and sev at midnight, I will drink to my heart’s content only when I am angry or in pain and not just to ‘socialize’ (never understood what that means anyway), read and re-read Tess every year, sleep hugging my teddy, write letters and keep them in my closet, yearn and pine and treat the person I love like god almighty (even if he or she is far from loving me back ever, write sentimental poems as birthday gifts, drink double shots of espresso without sugar (and all you CCD and Barista guyz I KNOW espresso is black coffee and yes I AM a GIRL who drinks bitter black coffee i.e. coffee without milk and sugar....so STOP telling me that please), and cry because my heart feels the pain or even without any reason at all because you know what I feel like crying. And as long as I don’t ask you for a handkerchief, I believe you should be OK too, after all, be your wise, cold, brutal, emotionless, practical self and leave me to wallow and die in self pity. And yes you are not invited to my funeral either.

-Monica

PS: Yes I will call people I love honey, sweetheart, bachhcha, darling and all those sweety pie, sugar coated names and if I don’t call you that please note you probably don’t matter beyond the business or social circle and I can flash my ever dazzling smile at you even if I am muttering nothings under my breath. Believe you me (is that hep enough btw?) I am skilled in polished, fake, make you feel important communication skills, no questions asked and yes period. And it shall only give me utmost pleasure to address you by your first and last name, in which ever accent you like.

Time to go

I miss the good ol’ times and all the lovely people in my life. I wonder has everyone gone far far away beyond touch, hearing, sight….feelings? It is all such a pretence, a show of convenience we are staging to keep up an image, a persona that is not our real character, a name that is not our real identity, and a race which takes us only far away from our true goals and our real being.

It really feels bereft. Love, friendship, togetherness, sharing, responsibilities, ownership, support all sound hollow, empty fake words with no value or emotions. I talk incessantly and I talk to everyone but it is like talking to walls, I can talk my way through without really saying what I want to, no not a single word of what I really want to say. It is all gibberish. I go through all activities of the day and everything seems like another item to tick off the to do list, even things like meeting a friend, sharing a beautiful evening, looking at the sea waves and the sun set and the moon, feeling the surge of emotions, the lump in the throat, the holding back of tears……all simply all of it is a task to complete.

I am turning into a mean machine and I find myself getting detached moment by moment with everything and everyone who I called my own and who owned me. Now being alone with my music and books is the only solace and it really scares me what next if even these become to do-s. It is time to really shut the doors and just never let anyone in. Time to draw lines, the crisscross lines, but the clear defined lines. There is only so much I can do and not do.

I can not only not take anything more, I do not have anything left to give either. It is best I part ways with all.

-Monica