Driblets : Lost and Found Poems


and there she stands wearing midnight

my relentless pursuer

waiting to strike again

Death

you underestimate me

*

Looking for something ?

I believe this is your knife ..

you left it in my back .

A word of advice – Be careful with knives they have minds of their own

****

Venus flytrap

hungry hugs

kiss of death

Oh, Please ! your old tricks have lost their sting

try something new

Something more exciting

more challenging

you still underestimate me

*****

The night spilled some of the dark element before plunging into the dawn 

and then came the rain 

riding on the wings of  storm 

 tapping on window panes sighing

 and its  shrill mournful voice 

singing a  requiem  for  the love lost 

sinking its talons in heart 

drawing blood

warm crimson splendor

pulsating with memories

  acerbic brew

death raises a toast 

as the wet bruised sun watches 

from behind the clouds at dusk

**

The Night Storm And The Summer Rain


It all began in the depth of night when the city was in deep slumber. The ferocious wind began to howl and scream as it rose between the high-rise like a phantom and hissed passed the trees and ground. The smell of thunder hung heavy in the air and soon the night was nothing but a cacophony of rattling window panes,  banging doors and thundering clouds. A nerve-racking  sound of smashed glass got the attention of some dazed people as they scurried to gather their belongings which the wind was threatening to take away. The electricity went off plunging the area in further darkness.

I gasped for breath in bitter air dull of sand while I struggled to pull a shutter that clung to the wall and wont budge as if scared to death. I cursed and let it be.

It sure was a relief from the merciless heat that was driving people nuts and an assurance of a cool nice weekend. I lay quietly in my bed trying to decipher the sounds that reverberated outside.

Slowly the intensity of the storm receded and soon heat gave way to dismal rain. The delicate intoxicating fragrance of the mogra and mixed with the  humousy smell of damp earth began to filter in from the open window. I poured myself a glass of chilled water and looked out at the waves of darkness.

Slowly the sleep took over and it was calm inside and outside.

I stepped out early morning to inspect the damage of the night storm. Broken branches, fallen trees, everything covered in a fine film of dust. Shattered window panes all told the story of past night. Yet, people seemed happy and relived. Many of them were out in their balconies or gardens sipping the first tea of tea laced with milk, sugar and ginger.

The trees looked shaken but not stirred. They stood dozing in the gentle breeze tired after the night’s battle.

I made a big mug of coffee and looked out in silence as the world around me began to wake up.

The fury of the storm had subsided but nature was not done yet.  The sun which had emerged from h

is hideout was soon pushed  behind a veil of haze. The storm was rising again from distant grey blue horizon. Soon everything was filled by the dust kicked up by the wind. The rain filled clouds struggled to hold their place. Once again the ghostly orchestra began to fill the morning made more mysterious by the whooshing sound of the wind. This time I wanted to witness the scene. Braving the wind which wanted to sweep me off my feet from the ninth floor balcony I firmly gripped the railing and watched the pigeons sail along propelled entirely by the wind. Aimless and confused they floated along with various other things like newspapers, plastic bags, leaves etc. A colorful leaflet of Pizza Hut came hurling towards the balcony, slapped against the wall and stayed their shivering like a malaria patient. I released it and it went floating to another destination.

The storm has scattered the crows that were roosting  in the trees and they all sang in a shrill chorus. I found it much melodious than the sound of cooing love-sick pigeons who  made out in the balcony all day long.

At the ground level trees were swaying like they had been hit by a seizer. Dogs ran  in search of safe place. The deserted streets began to fill with daily life.

I wondered if the clouds will bring rain or they the gutsy winds will win over them  leaving us high and dry. It ended as quickly as it started. The wind-swept rain began to fall in sheets like gauze curtains cleaning the side walks , the vehicles, buildings , roads and trees.

After sweltering days and soaring temperatures it really made the weekend special. I can see colorful bundles of joy playing football or cricket in the small open patches in the colony. Here at home another round of coffee has begun and there is a sense of calm all around

I sit quietly listening to the soul-stirring voice of Nina Simon . My body warmed by her velvety voice and the coffee in my hands.

Wet Street – Memoir


From the window of my apartment I look down at the gleaming wet streets in contrast with trees suffused with misty light. The twilight effect is mesmerizing. It has rained all day as if the sky wanted to share my hurt and loneliness.

Now the night is slowly slipping in. The neon lights have made a pond of brilliant bluish white light around every light post. A lonesome dog shivers and looks around for a dry place to spend the night.

Shadows fall on the glistening wet street, a magical display of dark and light. A car zips pass making a splash from the puddle. The water slowly settles down again. The loneliness stretches its dark shadow over the slippery wetness.

The dark clouds have moved away leaving a cleansed night sky. Soft thin cotton clouds drift lazily revealing a yellow full moon. I can see the naked stilettos of trees dark and mysterious against the lights in valley below.

The lights like fire flies seem as if a galaxy of stars has descended on earth. The sweet pine-needles are scattered on the wet streets release an intoxicating fragrance mixed with the smell of the wet earth and tar.

I decide to walk the lonely road. My bare feet feel the cold and wetness of the dark serpentine street. They seem to be numb, devoid of all feelings like the street itself. A little ahead the street glistens in  reflection of a solitary gaslight. I seem to be the only person living. The dark, lonely, dismal, deserted wet street weighs upon my spirit and sorrow.

I try to see my reflection in the moonlit puddle on one side. A phantom like image stares back at me. I pick a pebble and drop it in the water disturbing the dark face filled with agony and pain.

My shoes make a squeaking sound at every step which echoes through my mind. I try to cut out the sound. I love silence of the quiet wet street. I stop at the turn and gaze at the winding glistening street flowing down the valley. It is time to return. Reflecting on the events of the day and thinking of how we had walked in joy those very rain splashed streets I let a tear fall and mingle with the wetness.

The brilliant moonlight had draped the wet dark street with a thin silvery sheet. It gives me a sign of hope, of a new day about to come. Of a change that will help fade away the darkness of my soul and heart just like the moonlight did with the wet street. My feet shine as I walk on the wet silvery street of hope.

Winter Solitude


A lone eagle in the sky, cool breeze brushing my cheeks, parakeets making a racket on leafless poplar trees, yellow leaves drifting aimlessly to kiss the ground, larger trees swaying in a rhythmic, spiritual dance. Shivering birds search for night shelter. The rayless sun hidden behind the wispy clouds decides quitly to make his exit and let the night take over.

Somewhere a door slams shuts breaking the silence. A group of seven sisters noisely circles around the park and the lifeless, pale buildings and settles on the top branches . Today was a nipping day when one wants to be wrapped in a warm shawl or a cloak or a veil of memories.

An aeroplane flies past distruping the calm , a crow objects. I spot him sitting on the electric pole. A loner yet not so lonesome. There is something about the crows, mysterious, grand and regal. Something that does not want me to shooo them away like others. He looks around and takes a flight into the sky which  has turned  a peculier shade of grey today.

The stray dogs oblivious to all the changes around them cuddle on dry leaves and sleep as always. The cars zip past them but the only movement is a raised ear, or a half opened eye.

It’s began to drizzle. The clouds seem to be gathering in my eyes too, ready to pour. I watch.Standing near the open door. Inhale the sweet smell of the earth mixed with the roses in my flower pots. Fragrant evening.

Slow and steady falls the rain. The trees grieve with me. They look exhausted so am I. My eyelids are heavy with sleep. Hot tears burn ny eyes and yet I am unable to cry. Partings are never that easy. I reflect on the events of last few days.

I ask myself again and again why didn’t your footstep echo with mine? Everything seems to be rendered silent by the loss.

A steady drizzle of quiet moments.

I can hear the Aazan from a closeby mosque and the temple bells for the evening prayers. It is around 6 in the evening and already dark and dreary. One after another images come floating in my mind.  I hear whistle of a train winding it’s way in the mountain, the explosion of colors in the evening sky over the snow clad mountains of Ranikhet, the sound of rain pelting against the tin roof of the army rest house in the cantonment, thunder and lightning and the darkness thats slowly fills you till your very core.

A bitter sweet symphony of life. I love the evening rain that slowly builds up in the night and the fresh morning after that. A smile struggles through the tears and I switch on the music. Rain and music- two things that heal. I inhale deeply and take in the fresh sweet night air filling my senses and then exhale slowly letting out hurts, resentments, grudges, pain.

I remember lines from a poem by T.S.Eliot

I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

(From Preludes)

Poetry : Drama In The Sky


Picture

Drama In The Sky is the second poem which was published in the Guntur National Poetry Festival Anthology. I wanted to share it once I got the book. It is called “A Posy of Poesy”. The poetry fest was organised by Nagasuseela and Gopichand who also edited the book. The book has some very good poems from poets across the nation. My Blogger friend Nabina Das also has two of her poems in the anthology.
My first poem Detritus is already in the poetry section and here is the link to it .

DETRITUS

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DRAMA IN THE SKY

A Gloomy day, definite nip in the air

The wind, strong and chilly

Golden yellow leaves of the poplar

Cling desperately to thin haggard branches

The silence is uncanny

Murky mist seeps through

The very core of my being

My thoughts are frozen in time

Memories close in like a blizzard of snow

The drama in the sky unfolds

A flash of lightning marks the brilliant opening

With thunderous applause it begins to pour

The trees, their heads bowed, cry ceaselessly

The wet sun struggles to release itself

From behind the heavy cloud cover

The spell is strong, possessed, I drift into a trance

The sounds of thunder & flashes of lightning cease

The curtain falls

Complete silence follows

Nothing moves, not even a single leaf

(Image courtsey Webshots.com Google search)

~Drenched ~Healed ~


There is so much silence around even with the rain poring down ceaselessly. Everything seems to be in a serene meditative state. The trees, the flowers, the birds. All absolutely Still.

I look at the sky full of swollen clouds .. and step out .. it takes a few moments for the rain to seep through me and then the same
stillness passes through me. I stand there with closed eyes ..empty
There is still light outside though it is past six. I silently listen to the falling raindrops. There sound mesmerizes everything that it touches.

Slowly I open my eyes and watch the raindrops hanging on the clothes line .. merging sometimes into each other and then unable to hold on falling on the little plant below. nestling among the new leaves or the flowers hearts.

I watch the still pools on the side walks and the raindrops tap dancing in them. Suddenly as if the water had got feet and hands.. it runs down the narrow lanes, from the walls hanging and swaying from the branches, playing and dancing on the vehicles parked at the road side, gushing through the drain pipes and sliding like tears of joy from the glasses of the windows.

I allowed myself to become a part of the universe to merge with it.

I could hear the rhythmic beats and the showery dance of the rain as it fell on the tin roof across the road like innumerable dancing feet.

……………………

Today my silent tears stayed home and watched from the windows, the healing take place … the musical mystical magical healing of the rain..

The parched earth drank with pleasure the nectar of the life and I along with it received the warmth of your love. It is strange how the cold drops of water make you warm all over just by their gentle touch.

.. today the parched heart received its first healing rainfall

Today, I became the rain …

Love comes to us in many ways ..

It is not just a relationship …it is a state of mind …

November Rain


It rained all night .The trees ,the grass and the flowers,the roads and buildings all look rejuvenated .I love the winter rains.I do not know why .It brings with it… Love,memories that make you smile ,memories of some beautiful moments from the boulevard of past.

Though it is cold and windy , I am wrapped in an unusual warmth .With a cup of Jasmine tea I watch the birds clean their fluffy feathers with their beaks , perched on wet branches of the trees. .. pigeons cuddle close on numerous window sills.The clothes line has raindrops hanging from it like beautiful peals .The wind is strong today .The trees in the park are gently swaying , as if in a synchronised dance movement.There is mild wet sunshine .It is so romantic .Gosh what am I writing ..It was not supposed to turn out like this .              ..Stop ..

Yesterday we had an old reunion of friends in the evening ,it was long due and the weather was just perfect.So there were lots of hugs ,handshakes ,laughter and loads of fun ,over  excellent cocktails n drinks and  scrumptious food .We chatted about last 18 to 20 years that we spent together.It was such a pleasure.The kids loved it and had a blast ,with all the music and dancing .

Adi’s school finished today .He has already stated missing his friends especially his girlfriend :).School life is sometimes the best chapter of ones life .I understand how difficult it is at this stage to cope with so much that your life puts you through and I believe that this is the test of time ,it makes you take decisions that change the direction of your soul ,your being .

I remember the time when he joined the pre nursury..A cute little boy of two and half years.He loved his school and even when he went to the residential school in the hills ,he always made sure not to show the pain he must have been going through of being away from the family .I as a mother and his best friend knew what was in his heart but we both had no choice but to except to make the best of what was there.

The stay at Birla School brought out  the best in him.Maybe he got the right direction there.Since last one year that he has been with me I have seen him mature into a very sensitive  young boy.Suddenly my baby has grown into becoming my buddy .Now he is 17 and soon will be gone to some college and then another chapter of his life will start .He is an artist ,close to nature and perfectly in tune  with himself and nature around him.I am proud of my first born …How time flies ..

Adi’s  sketches

Adi's pencil sketch A pencil sketch by Adi

Do you know the relationship between two eyes..? they blink together,
they move together, they cry together, they see things together and they sleep together BUT THEY NEVER SEE EACH OTHER.. that’s what’s friendship.That’s what Love is ..sometimes .

The November rain has filled my heart with tiny droplets of such sweet little things ,of people whom I love and those who love me .

For a very special friend …with love …

Guess I am in love ..again??? ..I do not know …It seems like a cosmic connection ..something which is unexplainable ..I call it joining of heart strings ..Sometimes your heartstrings get attached with some other person who is part of your extended cosmic aura .You do not  have to know him/her .It just happens ..and then, if you are sensitive to it ,you come to know .It is an amazing feeling ,a bitter sweet symphony of life .

Why does one love ?Isn’t it strange to see only one person in the world ,to have one thought in mind ,one desire in the heart ?To have one name coming to your lips over n over again.As if it is part of your very being.To name which is in your and which you carelessly whisper endless times in a day .

You meet ,you love ,you are absorbed ,wrapped and bound to everything that person gives to you  .You live on that one person’s tenderness,his words ,his thoughts ,his love and care .nothing else matters .

Everything ,every moment that was spent together becomes a treasure.I ask myself what the hell is happening ..and I always get the same answer ..love as you have never done before.It is choice I made.

Infidelity  ?

No,I would not say that .

Love is an instant connection which you feel for someone and has nothing to do with relationships,morals,society or anything else for that matter .

A good friend who loves you for what you are is rare and I feel blessed to have found one .

It is said that A good husband may not be a good friend but a good friend will always be a good husband .

But sometimes we make a mistake in making our choice  …  and suffer a lifetime …..guess that’s life .

Sometimes we are left with a complex situation which has no answer .

Here I want to quote  something from the  Khalil Gibran ,Lebanese Writer, Painter & Sculptor.

On the Steps of the temple

By

Khalil Gibran


Yestereve, on the marble steps of the Temple, I saw a woman sitting
between two men. One side of her face was pale, the other was
blushing.