The darkness speaks….

My mind always wanders
It seeks early yonders
Of lands,seas and falling snow
They say it wont happen to me
They say I wont be able to see
Going against them, I say
I can taste the snow in my mouth
Y all the fuss??

Whenever a wave splashes
Against a yeildly beach
you feel it with your lashes
Against the sultry skin
I feel it too,the beauty and peace
They say it cant happen to me
They say I wont be able to see
Going against them I say
The ripples form in my mind
Why all the fuss??

You see it through the day
You see it through the night
But even the sun,the incandescent,the cfc’c
Cannot bring me light
They say”seeing is believing”
They say I wont be able to see
Going against them I say
I believe in every moment of day and night
Why all the fuss??

The pink ,the blue,the purple
The red,the green,the yellow
For me are all but black
I cant see the butterfly or a garden rose
But when I touch a raindrop,my ears hear it splash
They say a rainbow is pretty,that which I wont b able to see
Going against them I say
I love the essence of falling rain
Why all the fuss??

They say it wont happen to me
They say I wont be able to see
But does it matter much
When all I want is to be free

I would find my ways around
When I stumble,I’ll feel the ground
Would taste the snow
Feel the waves
Smell the falling rain

And one day when I’m gone
I’ll leave my heart behind for a someone unknown
For I don’t have my eyes to give
If I had,I would have been able to live.
(a dedication to that section of humanity,who isnt blessed with sight
An appeal to that section of humanity,who have been blessed to bless thee)

War for peace

Many a day, many a slay
Thou live for peace-o’ mercy bequeath
What hath brought you this peace o naïve?
Robbed you of flesh, blood and breath

Save empathy for those who warred
With lost limbs and dry eye
Who saved your soul, embraced doom
And for you, they lived –to die

Thee saved senile!!!Saved from what???
Terror still seeps through your veins
By what means thou call you innocent?
You are guilty of fear, your lives in vain

Trembling in your cozy holes,
Your dead life, of misery it shouts
With surrendered souls, your stagnant heart
Grow with cysts and cancer sprouts

Cast aside this garb of hypocrisy
Your talks smell of cowardice
Surrender…..if you wish to the brave hearts
Be their faithful accomplice.

The rickshawpuller

In his eyes I looked and found
Utter longing so profound
The misery,the want,the deep rooted lust
For matters beyond his scrawny touch
The blackberry,the pizza,the sleepwell,the merc
For him are all but cottony clouds
Beautiful to look,but far from reach

His days are laid with a hundred vows
Lurching from here …to a perch there
And nights are lolling on the mother ground
The reason to sweat is in other land
A survival made migratory bird
Little creatures of hunger when shout
Creater flies to collect some sprout

So,in line,there stands he
Every Monday…to put kerosene in his stove
Cooks to live through next day of work
Pulling others to make some bread
And send it home with fatherly love

He stands,stooped with wear
Looking much beyond his age
Waiting patiently,wiping his brow
As I grope to pay his due
And a shimmer appears in those eyes
As I chip in some extra too…
A halo appears on my head
As I glide feeling angelic to the core
Which fades with disdain
As I see him buying a joint with my pity

There he goes,puffing with content
Free from all the longing
Blowing away in the air
The PIZZA,the MERC,the BLACKBERRY!!!

no less than men!

a tribute to AMRITA SHER-GILL

i recently leafed through the biography of the famous beautiful painter amrita shergil.the book seers through her short life with few illustrations.i was never much a biography person,but i was curious to know about this female who my friend described as a nymphomaniac.them somewhere i heard that she was a painter and a raving beauty.curiouser and curiouser,i searched the library for her.but she was issued.i had to wait nearly a month to get to know her.surprisingly,i did not find her pretty till i saw her works...her paintings ,even in the pictures,were alive to me..more than words i devoured the powerful colours that a half indian,half hungarian girl represented in those oils...as for the nympho part,the writer has carefully made it a point to just avoid that portion of her life,but still not omitting the usual details..the life of an eccentric,painter,lustrous female,was virtually reproduced in front of me....and i could not put the book down till i sank in all her life in one gulp..in the end,it came as a surprise,her demise at such a young age of 28...but then she had lived her life to he fullest...the reason for her living,was her paintings,other than that,she was in and out of relationships,had a husband who did not care who she slept with but loved and supported her....she saw the world with her own eyes...well travelled but found her heart in the beauty of india...somehow,her paintings are not bleak like the west,but are vibrant,full of colours from the east...yes,she was wholly ours...her body may have been given to different men,but her heart was only for india....her art was for india...she must be accepted with her splendour and the aura she posessed...even after her death,her mystery drives readers like me to her art...a life well spent..

NOT A TEAR WILL FALL

sundry the moment,my throat is clogged,
the past does not wish to pass,
cold and clammy my hands feel,
but still...i wont let a tear befall...

squirted with dirt,i am an outcast,
pricked and pierced,still breath is left,
shallow beings befooled my depth,
but still...i wont let a tear befall...

understand, i had to quit,
i had to swallow my puppet strings,
in front of me cries my puppeteer,
but still..i wont let a tear befall...

smothered underneath,i gasped to live,
died each day bit by bit,
fear of foreseen engraved on my heart,
but still..i wont let a tear befall...

i did try my level best,
to live with the knot around my neck,
slowly it tightened its grip on me,
but still..i wont let a tear befall...

now my rope cries,so does the knot,
he cries who lassoed me to rot,
the marks cry on my neck,
but still...my eyes wont let a tear fall...

i m blamed for being the adamant pet,
who chose freedom over constrained love,
dared to differ,now doomed to suffer,
but still....

sumthing i came across

The photo is the 'Pultizer prize' winning photo taken in 1994 during the SUDAN famine.the picture depicts a famine stricken child crawling towards a UNITED NATIONS food camp located a kilometre away...

The vulture is waiting for the child to die so that it can eat it.This picture shocked the whole world.No one knows what happened to the child,including the photographer Kevin Carter who left the place as soon as the photograph was taken.

Three months later he commited suicide due to depression.

but my question is could he not have come forward and help the child instead of clicking the picture???