The Illusion of Knowing

The Illusion of Knowing

Who can guarantee, we are not blind?
All the stars that are dying now, if they are
a billion light years away, their demise
we’d know after a billion years!
Till then, astronomers would map the light
as forlorn poets across the world would pledge
their love with poems, penned through the night!

    

And still you’d say, we are not blind!
Neither deaf, nor numb till we feel or hear
the lights from the act or sounds from the scene!
Still you’d insist that we can know,
despite our existence in a superior dream!

     

Last night’s sweet residue of a tender happiness
though palpably spread across the length of my skin,
with my long history of waking up to find,
the joyful surrender was only a mere dream,
I hope this is not one of those times! If it is,
let me sleep as I don’t want to wake up again!

.


 

Enlighten Me

Enlighten Me

“Son of man, you know nothing!”, said the cloud,
with a loud bang of thunder preceded by
a fulgent flash of galvanizing blue,
flooding the sky with its light like a sea.
I bowed down and said, please enlighten me
but the cloud ran dry before I was through!

    

Was stunned by the silence I must admit,
then I remembered at the mountain’s feet
home of the cloud, the misty palace, stood
girdled by the lushness of those olive trees,
sacred since the ancient tales of godly feuds
and I knew where to I must spread my wings.

   

Atop the mountain one can reach out and
brush away the hanging clouds, streaked with gold
for staring straight into the heaven’s eye,
to submit, “Enlighten me, I have come!”,
hoping, the loss of wax along the way
would suffice for his dreams of a clear day!

     

With the last morsels of fate at my back
I head for my destiny to cherish the sun!

.


 

She Rose

She Rose

That soothing touch of the night cannot revive me.
Its silence, riding on the pleasant wind
or its dark shroud, hiding my sorrows for the rain
can no more imbue me with the light of creation.
What else is more unique to humankind alone?
How else can I justify my blessed breaths?

    

This hazy roller coaster ride, the one
we so lovingly plan ahead in time,
without knowing which way is the next turn –
up or down, how sharp to the left or right,
emboldens us to call those rare few without plans
as outcasts for not yielding to the perceived norms.

    

And lo, still I write, though since dawn I was
bleeding to death on the red plains of Mars,
with the dusk She rose like the rising sun,
halfway to Venus my spirit returned!
Is it not the way true love should feel like,
the more one lives, the less the other dies?

.


 

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!

.