The Reply

Rabindranath Tagore in Geetanjali wrote it as an invocation to God
“Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not!
I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.
It may not find a place in thy garland,
But honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand
And pluck it.
I fear lest the day end before I am aware
And the time of offering go by.
Though it’s colour be not deep
And it’s smell be faint, use this flower
In thy service and pluck it while there is time. “

God replies “ When I let you bloom my child
I wanted to have you in my garland though
But you gulped my light and sucked my stores
Yet failed to leave your bud and grow.
Inside the bud, shielded from tempests
You think you have been valorous enough
I let you bloom to conjoin souls
To spread the fragrance of love
But you stench of malignity , making lives on my bust tough.
And who did teach you on colours dear
I don’t remember tainting you
You downed my bounties, reflected back
And each appeared a different hue.

Kneel with respect, with love, with regard
Kneel to ask not take lives, fool ( The white police kneeled on George Floyd’s neck which ensued in his death)
I gave you a frame to help others stand
And not to use as a deathly tool.
If you are such a weakling dear
That you can do no good at all
Why do you dare to harm my toddlers
Aren’t you ashamed of your moral downfall?
I endeavoured to see my flowers
But woefully there are none but deadly thorns
Who rejoice tender flesh ripping apart ( The pregnant elephant was fed explosives, the fruit exploded in her mouth)
Don’t spare even the innocent unborn.
As my vision splits, trailing through tears
You express joy over the seven coloured rainbow
With a little of those colours, sprinkled on you
Why do you find it so hard to share a bow?
When I let you bloom my child
‘twas for my service I waited for you
But you refused to bloom, to be at my feet
For you wanted garlands at your own feet too.
I’ll hold the leash of time taut
I’ll not let the evasive time gallop
If I see you, my child, willing to bloom
I swear for the moment I’ll make the cosmos stop.
You need not be a gaudy flower
Nor with an ambrosial incense
Just be dappled with the hue of love
Just smell of care for others
That’ll be my most treasured essence.
I’ll pluck you not with the touch of pain
But it’s relief that I’ll help you gain
The day I see full blooms on the stem
My child,
I’ll happily pluck out all of them. “

A Quintessential Search

Monopolized by her absence
Having tranquilized my glee
I could find peace in none
Except being on a search spree.

Inside the crevices of cracked self love
Amidst the tangled mess of insecurities
I thought I would find her
Passionately struggling for parities.

I passed my nimble fingers
All through my sleek mane
I even sought my implausibly artistic eyebrows
But it was all in vain.

I strived to hear her in the deafening silence of loneliness
Mistakenly christened as solitude
I sincerely wished her to be
One of the tattered pieces of fortitude.

Strolled I for long
On the nebulous rift between anxiety and depression
I even looked beneath
The hefty and mammoth sheet of self oppression.

Neither was she amidst the labyrinth of convoluted relationships
Nor between the phrases of Sylvia Plath
I couldn’t see her oozing from the gaping wounds of masochism
Or fluttering between the grim pages of ‘The Grapes of Wrath .
Once while leafing through the rusty sheets of fairy tales
Swinging arms as I anticipated the exudation of pixie dust
I thought I got a glimpse of her
Dubious, yet I chose to trust.

And yes, I found her, I found her
Between messy hair and bushy eyebrows
Filled in bits in the acnes
And nonchalantly propelling all sorrows.

She was there in the sweetness of nectar
And in the avidity of the lithe wings of tiny butterflies
I could see her in the wondrous miracles of springtide
And in aspiring dreams to touch skies.

I saw her basking
In the pleasure of forgetting and forgiving her ownself
I saw her reclining in the patience
That a bruise takes to heal itself.

Between each transitioning syllable of uplifting verses
And in tiny dust powder in the ray of hope
She frivolously spun around
Embracing the changing patterns of life’s kaleidoscope.

She was in the bold repudiation
Of seeking obligatory validation
She meandered in the syringe of antidote
That would nullify in her the intoxication.
I noticed her in the courage
To renew a breached trust
In the recklessness to love
Completely consumed by wanderlust.

I found her in conviction, in compassion
I found her in vivacity
I found her in the blatant thirst to learn
I found her in the love and pride for her identity.

The search took a little longer
But it eternally set me free
After multiple cycles of vice and disquiet
I finally found the happy, little me.

A Matter of Few More Miles

May be it has been years
The sun in your life hasn’t shone
But don’t leave your hope in despair
Trust me you are not alone.

A thousand dampened eyes
Still wait for the rain
To wash off their souls
The very dirt of disdain.

But just stop for a while
Donate a couple of minutes
As you come to the end of this
You might just transcend your limits.

It might have been so
That you’ve given your flesh and blood
To love the people of your life
Who later, your joy, ruthlessly nipped in the bud.

It might have been so
That you’ve stretched your aching hands as rope
For a lot of people out there
Who callously pushed you down the slope.

It might also have been so
That you’ve been the silver drops in their times of drought
But when you needed them the most
They effortlessly fell out.

Now , as crestfallen you stand
With a thousand fingers pointing you
Let your persona defend you
And don’t point your own fingers too.

To love was not your fault at all
And neither believing was
The people you chose didn’t deserve you
All the mishaps, this did cause.

It’s not the right time to brood
But to embrace the lesson learnt
To discern the hundred unmasked trippers
Thankfully, quite early in your jaunt.

Stand before the mirror once
Find the fire in your eyes
That’s adept at burning all your regrets
Make sure that it never dies.

Feel the power your lone soul possesses
Breathe, drop and lift your lashes
You don’t have to rise like the phoenix
Just don’t let others turn you into ashes.

And listen to what the brook says
‘For men may come and men may go
But I go on forever’
Like the brook, you bicker along
Let the inane people haver.

Be a perennial brook of compassion
Under the sun you will always be glowing
Those who intend to stay with you
To keep up the pace, in rhythm will be flowing.

To gather the gems on your way
May be it’s a matter of few more miles
But you’ll certainly find men for your life
Who can blissfully bleed to frame your smiles.

Cerebral Jaunts

Leafing through the erudite sheets
Blissfully sniffing biblichor
Tempted to relish in the stupor
Pint by pint I quaff the printed liquor.
Leaping into a different world
An eerie road I stride
Sometimes as a delinquent lass
Sometimes as an evasive bride.
Gulping potions of passion
Daring to face the wrath of dragon
How astute it feels
To hurl at kins the literary jargon!
Empathy runs in the veins
Tears often cascade down the cheeks
Involuntary grins deck up the face
Heart prompts before the protagonist speaks.
Certain enticing pages
Shackle the responsive brain
Failing to get over them
I get back to them again and again.
And how it feels to highlight phrases
And utter them with the needed style
Letting each word seep through skin
Making them sacred dogmas for a while.
Losing bookmarks in the mean
Failing to resist dog earing pages
Reading them for the umpteenth time
I can’t stop cribbing over the wrinkles in stages.

It is a relaxing jaunt
A jaunt from forwards to epilogues
Carrying just that one motive
To squeeze every drop of expressions and dialogues.
And how to forget the pleasure
Of counting the pages left
As the pages dwindle towards the end
The heart weeps in the sorrow of being left bereft.
‘She could have stayed stronger
Or he could have acted smarter’
These pop ups never fail to urge
To reach and question the author.
And scanning through the last leaf
Staring at the back cover
Rejoicing the end of a tale
It’s time to drown in the hangover.
Awashed in mystic indulgence
Calmness fondles my mind
Heart races to find out
Whether ‘twas a journey or an elixir I just left behind.
After every tireless voyage
I become more supple like clay
Permissible to be subtly moulded
In the way the wordsmith does say.
After adding a book to the pile
I find a newer version of mine
With a different set of verses to use
And my visage disgorging a different shine.
So I have vowed to devote my every second
To quench my silly soul’s greed
Not of money or of land
But of enough books to read!

Love- A Paradoxical Escapade

Passionately smooching each other
One nuzzling the other dove
Triumphantly envying me
Made me ruminate my cowardice towards love.
That love is the contorted version of devotion
I had been soothing myself with
Vowing not to plunge into the tantalizing pool
I thought I rescued my heart from the impassioned scythe.
Closing eyes I thought
‘The horripilation of solicitous touches
And wobbles in the gut
Are mere callow theatrical things
To which pragmatic minds, their doors must shut.
And love being called a solvent
Perhaps a fallacious judgement of credibility,
For it cannot solvate inherent flaws
Making space only for perfections and affability.
Roughly dragging into a field
Of subsequent tests of fidelity
Love mainlined with the venom of possessiveness
Demands regular testaments of chastity.
Hearts vow to coalesce
But minds fail to acquiesce
Souls scuffle in the mean
Landing up in a putrefying mess.
The bondage is never as flawless as it seems
Arms don’t circle round you whenever you want
Often it’s not the coveted hands coming to mend your ripped heart
Love is rather a painfully silent rant. ‘
But the moment I opened my eyes
And willingly cleansed my glasses
I saw the metamorphosis of my views
And my notions eventually churning into ashes.
The breeze gracefully bends down
Planting a kiss on the leaves
They shyly wriggle and rustle
Like a bride who gives off euphoric heaves.
And the sea…
The sea despite being turned down
Courses towards the shore
At times though it slows down
It always tries some more.
The sun like an evasive beau
From east to West continues to run
The sunflower but endeavours to glimpse
For it just can’t stop loving the sun.
The clouds often projecting dominance
Garb the sun in the darkest cloak
A couple of hours elapses the clock
And the same sun, with its comforting warmth
The brimming tears of the clouds does soak.
How the mighty , blazing sun
Elegantly dies every day
So that the cold moon can live
And get some hours to be gay.
Love is not so spick and span
It is a blissful pain
It’s all about losing yourself
Without thinking what you gain.
There is beauty in imperfections
In chasing your elusive love
There is always a pleasure in embracing flaws
And with your beloved rising above.
This planet functions with warped affairs
With no disruption of harmony
Clad in the robes of mundane passion
We fail to frisk with love’s pristine symphony.
There is gratification in haughty grievances
And of course pleasure in pain
Who can know the elation of a selfless amity
Without having self conceit slain.
Of course we can’t have fairy tales
We need not strive for them
Let’s aspire for poignant companionships
Doing away with the blame game.
For once don’t love but be devoted
And from expectations rise above
Like you give in to God, not knowing if he did nod
See how the toughest of people genuflect,
Confessing you their love!

The Girl Who Healed

Cementing shredded pieces of hearts
Releasing disquiet on parole
Manuring plantlets of resilience
She was a maiden salubrious to the soul.
Prancing to the tunes of wails,
She would traverse to the grieving eyes
Wiping off each extortionate drop
She would solace in an angel’s guise .
Her gracile frame disgorged composure
The very words slipping from her lips were therapeutic
Her dogmas resembled those of a gnostic
For her age she was too pragmatic.
She empathised with people
But never dropped a tear
Letting all sorrows cascade down her throat
She quashed the looming fear.
The beauty of maple leaves at fall, she was
After a doleful, winter, she was the spring that followed
She was the antidote of love for men poisoned with hate
And remedial potion to fill the sore hearts hollowed.
Having a semblance to a colossal crucible
She billeted their melancholies
Editing spurious lines in relationships
She brought out quite beautiful allies.
Caressing bruised bodies
She tactfully stripped the contused skin
Lifting corners of downturned curved mouths
On remorseful faces she could engender a grin.
Mending broken boats of lives
Dexterous in using oars
Picking up ship wrecked kins
She endeavored to surf till the shores.
Seeing her zest to live
And her patience to hear all unvoiced
They thought she had a mirthful life
And all those years she had just rejoiced.
On being pestered by people
She commenced narrating her story
Unlike prejudiced by them
It was not an euphoric quarry.
“ All those who smile aren’t happy
Neither those who cry are sad
All those who are composed aren’t sane
Neither all the frenzied are mad.
I am not a preacher
Nor am I on a counselling spree
And this eternal beam on my face
Is but the fruit of a giant, dolorous tree.
With no one to call mine
I was all alone on this mystifying earth
An abandoned girl wandering
To find solace since her birth.
My tender body never got fondled
Neither my tears soaked in motherly palms
I got enough essentials to survive
But love wasn’t to be received as alms.
Life did lash out at me
I wanted to scream, but had nobody to hear
I cried till I dried my glands
For years my cheeks didn’t taste a drop of tear.
Discovering that I’ve come so far
Without slashing wrists or poking skin
I patted myself
And bragged a little within.
But having known well enough
What many a people do lack
I set about on a venture
Without ever looking back.
I became an unbiased ear
To the million unheard voices
In disguise I was the angel
Enjoining people to their choices.
I soaked the precious tears
Before they dampened mushy cheeks
As an acoustic foam I absorbed
All the painful shrieks.
Like water I quenched
The heaving flames of avengement
I endeavoured to free a lot
From the cryptic claws of beguilement.
Finding my path of consolation
I chose to stride on that
Treating wounded souls on way
Their cognitive dissonance I did combat.
Be it swabbing the debilitating tears
Or vibrating voice cords hushed with vehemence
‘twas I being inoculated with peace
Getting drenched in a gratifying essence.
As I stroked excruciating bodies
Emancipating them from pain
My own gaping wounds got filled
And immense relief I did gain.
When they say my words cure them
In the mean I get cured too
All those remedies my diseased being couldn’t get
I bust a gut to give it through you.”
So the girl who healed
Did finish her tale
To moisten eyes listening to her
In the mean she didn’t fail.
All fights might not end with peace
And not all tragedies with tears
Be hungry to know that every story
Don’t quench your thirst by just what appears.

And so says a scribbler…

Called my heart for poetry
And soul for some rhyme
My tympanum craved to palpate
With a lyric as nonchalant as a wind chime.
Peered I into the kirkyard of emotions
To water the pips of words
To see the boughs of rhythm growing
And rejoice under the canopy of my orchards.
Caressing an unsullied sheet of paper
I blotted a point of ink
Marking the cradle of the lilting ocean
I was set about to sink.
But my wrist refused to move an inch
My mind thronged with fear
My heart throbbed like none other day
’twas a feeling so queer !
‘What am I writing for?
Who is going to read ?
Are my words that worthy
For somebody to pay heed?
Can they win me laurels
Or fill me with pride
That my words suffuse in people’s hearts
And act as their guide?
Can my blithe locutions make them smile
Or my woeful ones make them bleed?’
This dubiety about my rhetoric
Spread its malicious roots like a weed.
Loosened the grip on the pen
Forfeited I to fright
Slamming the door on that itch’s face
I began dodging to write.
Crumpling the immaculate sheets
I hurled them into the bin
I shut off from the world of vocables
To my utter chagrin.
Daily chores didn’t tarry much
Desolation had begun to choke
Draped in the uncanny robe of monotony
Mirth I couldn’t invoke.
A hollowness gnawed at me
I was a body sans soul
A mind plodding towards
Quite a murky goal.
Till one dingy day
When I could try no more
My skin sensed being etherized
And appeasement my soul did deplore .
Smoothening a creased paper
I sat down to pen
To heal my diseased being
And not to make others ken.
I wrote to transcend my limitations
Not to win a heart
Just to nullify my sorrows
And bludgeon them to depart.
I wrote and wrote for hours
Puking a hundred words
They bickered like the bubbly brook
And chuckled like the chirpy birds.
I found the coveted therapy
And believed I must write
To wing my emotions and set them free
To let them rejoice the respite.
I just scratched the edges of my heart
With a supple scraper
I didn’t intend to adorn or distort them
So just filmed it on the paper.
Neither did I rack my mind
For better phrases or such worries
Nor did I drop minutes
In search of literary jewelries.
I flowed with the tides
Of spontaneity and brevity
I wrote until my heart declared
An official state of tranquility.
I stopped writing for people
I started scribbling for me
To stoke my pusillanimous heart
And make it feel glee.
But people happened to read them out
And their hearts did tally
Tears did well up on my agonizing words
A grin did show up on the report of a doting ally.
And the ones which I wrote
To keep me going
They said it fueled their passion too
And forever kept them flowing.
Each time they cried
Or smiled on my poem
Medals jingled around my neck
Adding one more drop of aplomb.
I devoted my lines to people
As a panacea to set them free
But I no more aspired to write for them
I chose to write only for me
I only chose to write for me !!

Battling Gloomy Days

On certain low and gloomy days,
Pain is all you see,
Dismay seems to weigh you down,
In none you find glee.
The souls with whom you’ve mingled well,
Brutally make you bleed,
The ones for whose joy you endeavoured,
Grudge the moment you succeed.
You toil relentlessly for days,
But diligence doesn’t pay off,
To cope with impending failures,
You find it really tough.
Stories of love and conquests,
Hit your sore heart hard,
Weapons of agony clad in insouciance,
Callously leave you scarred.
Then your credence putrefies,
Ludicrous theories meddle with your mind,
Scuffling in the abyss of helplessness,
You blame God to be behind .
That ‘it’s God’s way of penalizing me’,
You lament the same and wail,
Giving in your gifted prowess,
You accept, you are born to fail.
But you aren’t born to win either,
You are born to live,
Putting all your bids in a strainer,
Only triumph you can’t sieve.
And God isn’t so cruel,
He is not so shrewd,
He can’t see his children suffer,
Or be the reason they brood .
It’s in time of these trials,
God scrutinizes your store,
For he knows you need some power,
So he gauges how much more.
This life isn’t to mourn ,
And by heart you must know,
Those who you envy aren’t destiny’s kins,
And you are not it’s foe.
Your tunnel might be darker,
Rugged might be the path you stride,
But light does eagerly halt there,
Where you ought to end your ride.
If things don’t come out as you wish,
With angst don’t go mad,
Gulping the entire barrel of pessimism,
Don’t feel happy to be sad.
This chapter doesn’t interest you,
The next might be engrossing,
If you don’t have the zest to turn,
How will you see what life’s disclosing .
For once you put your hand on heart,
Find pleasure in your pain,
Woes will always keep you scourging,
No matter what you gain.
In this enigmatic journey of yours,
Marked by uncertain ends,
With vigour, faith and endurance you march,
And see how time makes all amends.

The Ambrosial Incense

The effusion of balsamic cologne
Followed by coalescence in her frame
Sets up an enthralling biotic constitution
With no qualms, entirely mine I can claim.
As a sanguine sky marks the onset of day
Her luxuriant hair meanders with grace
Revivified by the morning shower , the scent permeates
Caressing my hypnotic senses, the alluring ribbon of sleep it does unlace.
The residual whiff after her departure,
Gyrates and my languor it mars,
A million neurons get plucked,
My soul prances to the tune of a thousand organic sitars.
The mystically tempting extramundane fragrance,
Quite astutely sensitizes me,
Nullifying the venomous roots of dejection,
It strews in me the pips of glee.
The looming of the mollifying aroma,
Appeases my restive heart,
Garbing me in robes of hope,
Bludgeons sorrows to soon depart.
My wallet that often inhabits her wardrobe,
Clasps the scent in its miniscule arms,
A maudlin comradeship in peregrinations,
Deluding her presence it simply charms.
The concoction of balsamic odour and sudor,
Gives off a ritualistic smell,
A harbinger of time to recline,
It reinvigorates my every cell.
Since the day my nose acquired prowess,
It has been dexterous in cognizing the scent,
Epitomizing supreme maternal concord,
It’s healing impact none can supplement.
Twas a humble promulgation of my mother’s redolence,
Which never fails to enrapture me,
Suffusing endearment, warmth and affinity,
A sniff is as rhapsodic as nothing can ever be.

A Cloak and Dagger Junction

According a report by WHO:

  • Mental health conditions account for 16% of the global burden of disease and injury in people aged 10–19 years.
  • Half of all mental health conditions start by 14 years of age but most cases are undetected and untreated (1).
  • Globally, depression is one of the leading causes of illness and disability among adolescents.
  • Suicide is the third leading cause of death in 15-19-year-olds.

Teen age (13-19) is an extremely crucial period of human life. This is the time of surprising transformation of the mind and body. Teenagers usually baffle their well wishers by a sudden change in behavioral patterns and decision making. While adults get agitated and anxious , trying to whip teenagers back to track, it is equally important to address their mental state, to counsel them and help them out. It is because, despite unusual and often the incorrect steps, they have subtle realisations but the hormonal surge and the irresistible impulse overpowers them. Owing to this they continuously scuffle with themselves.

Standing at an enigmatic confluence today,
I’m a chaperone to a bloody tussle,
A tussle between me and myself,
A tussle set to wrest me apart,
A tussle that throbs the core of my heart,
A tussle whose sequel shall festoon my tomorrow.
An uncanny cacophony clogs my mind,
My flesh reeks of rebellion,
My diaphragm feels a ceaseless thrust,
And tranquility with vehemence is pushed behind.
What were sacred dogmas yesterday,
Seem annoyingly didactic today,
Even I am bemused,
For the warm embrace cladding me in robes of security,
Today feels like the cruel clench of treacherous claws.
Barbs of eerie perceptions,
Urticate my tender tissues.
There is an urgent call to be blasphemous,
Especially to my partisan’s counsels,
Counsels which once were mottos of my life,
Counsels which were the embers of rectitude in me.
From a sanctimonious world,
Where I bragged of probity,
Now there is an exigency to step out,
To step out and enter an erroneous world.
The ingress, though I know ,
Would ensue delinquency,
I am not enough brawny to liquidate the impulse,
The Herculean impulse mangles my righteousness,
And tactfully inoculates me with provocation,
I can endure emphysema,
But not the urge to smoke,
I cannot give up the itch to sip in booze,
Rather be ready to endeavor a choke.
A bacchanalian grin pacifies,
A precipitous heart ,
Despite its ugly radiance,
The inceptive descent of sensuality,
Feels like the first touch of spring,
A voluptuous body illegitimately defines,
Love in my theseraus,
The heightened libido has a semblance to the restless waves,
The restless waves of a full moon night.
My heart and mind have got into a brawl,
To decide whether I am a callow or precocious,
But I feel , I feel as if I am prodigal,
Yes, prodigal dejectedly transformed from a prodigy,
I have voluntarily shoved aside,
The colossal barrel of nectar,
And I am struggling to gulp down the bitter poison,
I know its bitter but can’t resist the incitement,
The stench of a pernicious tomorrow,
Stimulates my olfactory lobes,
Though my previous sanctimonious world,
Extends its hands, ready to take me back,
I am woefully panglossian about the world I thrive in,
But I know, the synapse I stand today,
Can’t bear me for long,
It’ll soon chuck me out,
For there are other trippers too.
I have to fabricate an abode,
An abode entitled to shelter me,
Shelter me when the junction will do away,
Lest I shall prepare to putrefy in a chasm,
A menacing, perilous chasm.

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