Falling

Falling

Falling is almost always painful, be it in love or in the tumult of a whirlpool. Even when the fall is spontaneously reciprocated by the other side, love’s sad satiety imbues the union with a sour taste of emptiness. How mundanely blessed our lives would be, had falling been all there is to love. But hell no, it is not even the beginning of love, let alone the end. Then, what is love – surely neither the possession of a pretty face or the right of petting, nor the means of convenience to run in the rats’ scuttle. Zeus had no love for Hera, nor did Aphrodite for limping Hephaestus. Rather, true love is nothing but a complete and absolute annihilation of one’s ego, desires and prejudice. That is why I have always been in love with the goddess of the hunt, my dear Artemis!

 

Yesterday, a friend asked me, how many times I have been in love. What could I have said in return? Usually one expects to hear a number after asking a question like that. Once upon a time I too tallied but since 2012 I have lost the count. After betting on the wrong side and earning bankruptcy at the gambling deck of life in that year, I have been living on love. Life became covertly simple. Each day began with a fervent hope that at night I would not come back to my bed, alive. Disappointingly, every day I did. Then at nights, before losing consciousness I prayed to make this night my last one, being too tired to witness another rising sun and shoulder the shackles that dogged life’s territorial woes. That pining too was done in vain.

 

However, in between the end and beginning of those daily doses of unconsciousness, love kept digging pits for me at every twist and turn. I too responded gaily, falling in each of them without any second thoughts, that too at the first sight. In most of the cases despite the fall I survived with just a few cuts and bruises. In more than a few though, I bled to death before crawling up to the ground with my teeth and nails. I had to. Afterwards, only a few words, perhaps a complete line or two if luck happened to be with me that day, remained. A few of such fall culminated in a poem. Honestly, each of those sagas felt like a marriage to me where I, the wife, after conceiving, had been forced to live on my own with a child, the poem, growing inside my heart and soul.

 

Five years later, now, the pages of my life are teeming with more than a thousand such children, sired by love and borne by me. Yet I shall boldly claim that there is and has always been only one Krishna in my dreams. It is I whose perceptions, like Radha, have evolved and changed with time. So, human beings truly can fall in love once and once only, no matter how many faces might push them over the edge in life!


 

A Straight Line

A Straight Line

My heart aches, to see myself morph into
a straight line from the old triangular shape,
a form, I had grown so comfortable with
but dreaded change is the sole constant of things!

I have never had circumference as
one of my vital properties, unless
one considers the entire breadth and width
and height too, of the visible universe!

Even in my rare lucid dreams, if I
had ever imagined a curving line
being drawn by Fate around my existence,
the center remained on the other side!

The snarling faces will never relent
from across the mirror, jeering at life,
so, no matter what, why should I resent,
being a full circle, a throbbing triangle or a straight line!

.


 

Sadness But Me!

Sadness But Me!

Should I have tried to catch a falling star instead?
Finding a fair soul has become a fairy tale!
Should I have sung the song of life on my deathbed?
How much courage does it take to say, I have failed?

 

Where have those days receded now, save from memories,
when to love was nothing less than being canonized?
How come the same throbbing be fleeting pleasantries
or swirling rapids, crowned with white foams, human life?

 

Being a proper fool, I have seen too much and lost
my innocence along the way, for nothing’s free
in this wretched world but save these words in permafrost,
what you call sadness in fact isn’t sadness but me!

 

No matter how hard one tries to win the wars in their life,
no one has, can or ever will get out of it alive!

.


 

Dualities

Dualities

Undefeated, I have never lost nor won,
for I have been a mirror all through life,
across the ups and downs towards the sun,
in all my future dreams and previous flights!

 

Vagabond, I have never possessed nor belonged,
except, in both cases, the entire universe!
Sleepless for life, though I have hardly missed a dawn,
the morning light have never had my sighs traversed!

 

Illiterate, I have not been able to learn yet
what the quintessence of humanity might be
with myself surrendered to the rhythm of my fate –
who, with conviction in their eyes, can answer me!

 

How do you absolve such dualities in your existence
against the universe that had never dreamed of a fence?

.


 

Monday Blues

Monday Blues

Do what you think might suit you best,
shed no tears for my pain!
I have suffered enough to have grown
indifferent to all sufferings,
if and when sadness starts pushing me
to a corner, yet again!
What I cannot do and nor should you ask,
is to desecrate my humble dreams!

What else do I have to graze on?
What else do we ever have to sustain
a dull, gray and placid existence,
comprised of breaths piled upon laborious breaths?
The moonlight does not paint
her petals on the ground everyday
on nights when she does, with a serene smile
I shall let you take all my dreams away!

But when the waning moon is too dim like tonight
and the chill in the northern wind
pierces our skeletons with ease,
for hardship though, both here and in the past
I need your soft, enveloping warmth
to save them for the next day, both yours and mine,
until the next dawn, perhaps when the night ends
or let this one be O Lord, my last!

Duly then a new sun comes up, setting
the sky on fire, the next dawn never comes.
Half smiling in silence, I remain a human-owl,
as from dust to dust my soul returns!

.