An Exercise II

The theme is Mirror(s) and the words to use are Stall(ed), Plaque, Grille, Stellate, Scar and Daylight. The concept is rather tricky for me to keep a consistency with especially to incorporate in it the mentioned words but I shouldn’t whine as long as it helps me un-knot my mind. So here’s the attempt I came up with. Your suggestions are welcomed.

There’s no complexity here;
we’re no more than a few animates
and a handful of cosmic granules
juxtaposed in the recurrence
of eternal themes,
manipulated by the shades
of divine incandescence.

The Sun tries in vain
to whitewash its pain
in broad daylight that is
imprinted in scars
on the countenance of Moon.

There have always been men
having stellates in their chests
whose glow show paths
to many a lost tribe.

My father fixed his eyes
in those of the eternity
but the dusk drank up the light.
Now I’m transfixed to the plaque
of his memories
as I stare deep
into the looking-glass of time.

Its been the same fire
grilling us forever.
You’ve stalled to admit,
but I know it all;
we’re blind yet we can see
ourselves through the eyes
of Farhad and Shireen.

An Exercise

Cav is generous in help and I’m indebted for his gesture. He gave me a theme of ‘memory’ with words like ‘grove’ ‘midgets/midges’ ‘tingle’ ‘dusk’ and ‘window’ to be used in the development of a concept. I tried it abliet with a frozen mind resisting to unshackle and came up with a raw, rushed up (I wasn’t hastened, though) story. Here it is. It will be shaped, reshaped and even written off, in light of you people’s suggestions.

Sitting poles apart

in his cozy room

he would crave to be

a part of the scence

when he’d watch

on his tv screen,

the glistening Himalayan peaks

kissing the Indus-blue cheeks

of the sky that would blush

into all the possible hues.

As if a speck of a mettle

enchanted towards a gigantic magnet

he found himself moving

towards the mountaneous range.

Standing at the feet

of the Nanga Purbut

he was a midget

filled with the naivete

to surmount love.

Pinching the body

of the slumbering beast

he crawled up

unaware of the pitfalls

waiting under the sheets

of white snow.

The arrival of dusk

emboldened the air

that lanced through

his mountaineering gear

as he was tingled

before being gobbled

by a cavernous hole.

It all happened in a trice;

his body writhed like a fish

in protest of decption,

his heart blissed out

and froze like that

of the beloved

and his mind rolled

in a backward motion

showing him the glimpse

of his wife sitting across

the window pane

staring deep at the

grove where they’d play

hide and seek.

Rambling …

As dryness prevails with no clouds in sights or those roaming the skies are bereft of moisture, I cannot fish for ideas in the erstwhile pool of imagination, for it is long sucked by the intensity of times. So, I decide to set out on a ramble towards nothingness, than waiting in futility for something non existent. I wander about in the vast expanse of the Writers Block when my eyes catch a glimpse of something shimmering, ‘Ah, thats it, move on lest it fades!’. And it fades the moment I reach there. In this wilderness I’ve found good allies in mirages; they play games with me. But like every other game this game has to end and I dont want to be a loser. I’ve already have my hands full of emptiness. I better make some rain that will fill the pools of my imagination where fish of different ideas will brood to give me a choice to catch ideas from.

P.S: ‘Fishing for ideas in a pool’ is something I heard from Cav

I will taint you ..

As you refuse

to own them —

the illegitimate words

that fertilized in the womb

of my mind,

(when your thoughts persuaded

my passion to produce

love poems)

I’ll throw them at your face,

I’ll taint you,

I’ll hand you the guilt

of their birth out of wedlock

if I’m ridiculed for their creation

this time again.