O' Flesh of Mine

Could you smell my flesh?

Burning raw in blood

With sooted mouth, and harrowing smell

It peels everyday, it bleeds every hour

This smell burns my eyes

I am blind, blind to hollowness

Heard the rituals of funeral moan

Thorough in verse, hoaxed to death

Nothing stops from the flesh to heal!

None cares to stop to see

Yet it hangs like a mortal curse

Forever, ever - a sm

elly terse

Dearest flesh, don't hang so low

Don't give up quick, don't take the blow

It makes you suffer, to become silt

It make you burn, till the tilt

Don't give up yet

The burning blood fate

Feel the grief of a larger pain

Don't let it rot, just in vain

O flesh of mine! I smell you through

Every night, you slither a rue

Understanding

Letter to Ma,

Understanding is base to commitments. When language seems foreign and listening becomes tenuous, words disappear. One will never understand a person goes through until the same situation encompass.

She is my solid support even to this day. I understand now her frustrations, her anger, her rogue moments.

Listening to her words in numbness, in my cold days. Her words swims through all my ages. One promise I seek is not make Ogu be part of my rogue.

Bottling up things is part of my growing, it continues. I have learnt it from you. I have mastered the art of being alone even in a crowd. I know, am absolutely different and so I stand alone.

I am strong to stand alone. To build my bridge of my troubled waters.

Thank you my dearest best friend,
Love you the most …
So scared to be without you

Uni, my freedom

You are my sins, you are my war

I have walked alone and come this far

You are my trouble, whom I set free

You germinate inside to become my tree

You are my rebel, you make me scream

You live inside and make me dream

I see you through, growing in slumber

I count your moments, as I remember

You make me exist

You are my soul, my words by far

You are my silence in my days
You make me high, set a bar
I see my dreams in your eyes
I see my future, where it lies

Uni, you are the reason now
I get my strengths through you some how
I will let you grow with every part of me
I will wait for knowledge that you'll see

Journey of a Mother

For nine months, it was waiting for a heart that kept on beating. It opened its fingers summoned me to create - a poetry, verse, a notion or a mind. The first time you feel that warmth makes you so much alive.

He is 14 months now and how my times flies, I have no idea. Someday, I will sip over a cup of coffee and mull over my journey. Ogu by then you will have your own perceptions and thoughts. It will be good to have a conversation with you to understand your political ideologies, literary inclinations, and taste of music.

My mother gave me the freedom to be "Me;" and I will do the same to you. I will enable you to get what you want to be, not restricting your imaginations - it might be how unreal it be!

Thoughts! Yet Again

When I said 'nothing', I spoke a lot

Some assumptions exposed, as we fought

My silences reveal meanings

For you cannot say, or know

And all your thoughts, you let it grow

It grows and dies,

With all my sins, I lie

When we spoke not once

Neither you nor I

Sat with empty mouth, with no words to shout

We don't understand the other

Drowned in senses, not to bother

Numbness seeps deep through

A pungent smell, I see it brew

A pattern stir deep

As we take a leap

Thoughtless nights, as I sit to wonder

What must I think? What must I ponder

I have become so blank

Where all my smiles sank

What do you see?

Ain't all feelings gone? 

I feel, I am yet again reborn

Birth is a new phase, or return to an old

Words that I collect from you every fold

Ask not me! Where I am lost

Why did I speak ? At what cost?

A sentimental foe fumes in 

I commit, I commit yet another sin!

Another mundane

Argument

Thoughts, I have spoken to you

In loop, iterating our perceptions

Thoughts, I had a coffee with you

In our evenings, when all work is done

 

Thoughts, when we took a walk

When words ran dry, sentences didn't talk

We ran from one argument to another

Consumed by mundane breather

 

Then, we pause for a while

Exchange a courteous smile

Part our ways

To begin a new phase

 

An argument to come

An argument to grow

A perception revealed by some

An assumption to throw

 

There, I see, you building a phrase

Punctuating your terms
Slowly crafting a tedious maze

Curating a chase

Our arguments grow, in a vicious flow
Words - peak and crest low
Voices of my head taste so numb
Neither I hear, nor can I sum

Arguments! yet again come with me
Words still flow, not meant to be
Get lost! you thought
Bother not me
Let me live peacefully in my ignorant abode 

Of Conversation!

Sometimes I ask, can I converse?
Of words sense, thoughts so terse
I know not words to soothe you
I know not pain to hurt through

In days like these, can I speak?
Of thoughts so pure, not childish!
I know I make a lot things rough
I know my days will become tough

Sometimes I wonder, how subtle can I be?
I speak some words for you not to see
I know you mean not those words of pain
I know still, my mind will sustain

Just when I think, these moments are mine
Everything around is an act of time
I know not how to be mature to you
I know how to have a conversation through

I know my words don't speak my mind
I never learnt to utter thoughts, sigh! a sigh!
I am versed to hold back well
Am scared dear, to reveal, to tell

 

Rights!

It fluttered in me for a while,

To move and swim - and made me smile

Now I see, it bulging here

You are mine, my rights - I fear!

O my life! Germinating through,

How to make you mine? I have no clue

Dreams wonder in my sullen nights

I toss and turn to seek my rights!

 

My mind wonders in nights of calm

To hold your rights in thy eager palm

You don't say a word, even then

Do my thoughts make you sane?

 

Waiting now to see that face

To converse with me, till I daze

Give me rights, for you're mine

I promise though, I won't cross my line

 

You are my prayers in bustle and din

Prepared I am to lean in

For rights so dear, I must not share

With none other, only you I care!

 

'lore, My fluent route

Hope! I see you in wings

Fleeting and Flying in diurnal things

You remind me of brazen sun

Burning my words for intended pun

O sweetest 'lore! When will I be

I fight my war only for thee

I stand today in a strange land

Wearing my skin out to flee

Dearest Wild Nights! In thickets and din

Futile these days, no memories to pin

My compass has broke and direction lost

Strayed in maze! What'll it cost?

'Lore I see, you stand still there

With silent paths, speech so fair

I know not words, my reason broke

Wait for time in futile stroke

I am nobody - a speck lost in 'lore

You - in labor and leisure, I ask

Burn thy sense with sword galore

I live not here, an abode of lees

Tantrums

 

 

Midnight tears brew and fall,

I saw the night growing tall and tall,

A beating heart by your side,

Keeps on beating till it lied.

One drop and another, yet they crawl,

With no future, and forbidden pause,

It keeps on coming with bouts of pain.

With wounds of quietness, it sustains.

 

Came some light, through the curtain's side

Change my side, from left to a silent right,

Cold I felt, the narrations that I've dealt

In my deep seated eyes

 

Long, a prolong pause

Still, slept I not because

The midnight tears did flow

This night is slow, very slow

Wonder!

Of distances, I wasnt concerned until yesterday. This soul, right beside me, looked outside, pouted several times, listened to his lingering sighs, and didnt pronounce a word. One can breathe with another person all life, yet can defer living with.

Of decision, I never mulled on until last afternoon. Ra had uttered "safe moves." I remained benumbed as how to pin down the exactness of this term "safety." Three dimensions, I can correctly pen: Body, Soul, and Spiritual. Soul and Spirituality quite complement the other, and sans them "body" doesnt own a value.

Safe! how safe I am ? A fear held me, from dawn to dusk, safe - hiding ... some where I am safe.
I reason the measured ounces of safety, yet I am unconvinced.

Every touch and droplets of words stand a value when it is coated with expectations. Some of the silences scoops your soul out, its painful - as if being clawed. An interia mounts in soul, it becomes lazy, and the face right in front gets hazed.

Of goodbyes, I had taken my eyes of. As if some more time, some more questions lingering in my eyes, some of neglect, some more time.

I wonder! What silences speak to me
Of what I can or cannot see
I wonder! If only you speak a word
And still I can remain unheard

 

Kb - "I Don't Know"

A plain question, I asked
Where do I stand?
There he brightly basked
Looked, in surprise
I perplexed, wherein his answer lies

A plain question, I penned
Words I scribbled without an end
He creased his wishes
No feelings did he send

Of creativity, I say
This russet evening today
I penned down long
Lingering expression juxtopposed stand
Hurting limbs, denying utterances
Stubborn enough to leave my hand

Do you feel?
For the feelings, I seal
I feel so lo'
Still, you ponder and say
"I don't know"

HURT

Hurt me enough, so I never turn back

Hurt me more, so I learn what I lack

 

Never enough my learnings end

Hurt me deep, so I cant even bend

 

Never forgive that I took you to gale

Wound me most, to drown my sail

 

Silences to your Shores

I.

Ink pen and exact paper structures
And I pen you in them
Like ellipses of purple foment
Where I seek you in my train of thoughts
You keep coming, never settling as lees

And when I murmur redundant poems
Patiently enough, you wrestle with my words
The flavors of your emotions transcends
My succulent sins of time

I have commenced life in you - long
Cupping a face that never answers
What you decipher?
I wait and listen your unuttered metaphors

My time always tappers
And the mundane follows
And I leave you incomplete
Mothering my limits in agony
Surreptitiously, I have a piece of you in me

II.

Mostly touched by your silences
I derive my tampering from the half-spoken words
Those eyes that can hide
My thousand screams in surrender

Your frolic takes period ‘way from me
Keeping my half pauses of tranquility alive
Smoothened by your melted vanilla
I usher your tenderness in my creation

How often do you curb urge?

At that moment I urged all my words to swim across a russet pantheon cave. The wave’s commotion kept me awake in the forest of this summer. Wild as the summer can be, a sweeping dent of emotion, a blistering fire of longing and, then, nothing! It seems that life has been here with me long. The length has prolonged every moment; however, still I stand restricting! Like the oil in the lamp, I linger for fire. The flame breathes deep and still I limit. This limit of limitlessness has delivered an oblivious self fascinated with the ideal of “curbing.”

The sun questioned with his wondering eyes, and more baffled his eyes were to find me naïve. It is that my soul has selected her society of limiting your limitlessness. It is this curbing, that resisting and me innumerable no man’s land that holds to you! Do you even realize this? Sometimes turning away a face doesn’t mean distance. It means a thousand closures that need not be revealed.

Closures are novel accesses to freedom to an unexplored pasture where you reap a narration. I recollect a girl mentioning about closures and its significance. However, do all closures give freedom? Closures take away that “amness” in you. When I sit with cupping hands I believe that it is so difficult to find “you” in someone, and the day we find it – we are free. We just don’t restrict ourselves in living in one body, one soul … we are living in a purely distinct soul.

How effortless it becomes to see that reflection of yours! But this freedom disappears in thin air when we lose our individuality. It is more like a venn diagram, where you find one line of existence is meshed up with another, and so forth it continues. However, if you have a closer look you will find innate individualistic colors too.

Nothing moves, nothing lost and the whole germinates.

Never Thoughts

There has always been certain never thoughts in life. Somewhere they reside in great oblivian. They over sleep, make living more solitary and, strangely enough, never thoughts. You just dont mull over. You have no clue that they are growing with you; nourshing your subtle, meticulous silences; observing your detailed movements; dying occassionally when you are hell bent on wearing a new narration.

It is a casual numbness that goes unnoticed every moment. It crawls, prowls, and ceases your thoughts; yet they are so never thoughts. And when they commence to voice their existence, you are just quiet, in deed, very quiet. Often I brush a question to these never thoughts and et al. I will let the readers ponder what might be the most probable query. And a reader must be wondering whether I get my answer at all? Yes, my answers are throbbing with life; they are so much into existence; however, they fail to satiate me.

So these never thoughts fall short of making it to my akme of satiation. Willingly enough, I master my thoughts. I reign my nation of never thoughts. I decide, I imbibe. Yet I remain so baffled when these never thoughts come to know "me," which is still a riddle to my existence or  to my so called "nonexistence."

Comfortable Silences

Then the contours of your words

Succulent and fine

Lay intertwined

Soft and supple

They breathe

Defining moments

Nourishing a novel creed

You say the contours change 

But I wish to feed every range

As my evenings subside

Into more defined measure

As my words take a definite ride

To find life in your treasure

Abstract!

Often there is a question that bubbles, and when I am about to realize the nuance — the question no more lives. It just becomes a passe. It transforms itself to an abstract. Its more like nihilism that recourses itself to form a crippled mundane. Or is it that the routine is handcuffed ? I have sorted out questions on my plate, I sit to decide and, then steadily, all the questions vanishes! I frantically look for them, but no where I find them? They have transformed to something else. And I fail each time I look for the transformation. 

It all leaves me so empty. And yet I hold on to the question — How spacious space can be within you? Is this space also diurnal? This space might even be an epitome of patience. Can a being be reasonably patient? Does it  mean that the energy of this space, as I call it, gets transformed to patience? Patience makes things calm. Or is this calmness leading me to something? I think there is a brush of stubbornness that patience has. You just cannot get rid of it. There might even be a phase of nonexistence. Isnt it ? As if you are going through a spasm. And you fail to express. Something that is meant to be just mine. 

It lives on to be an abstract. Is this spasm a hypothesis? Is it your imagination? However, if this abstract is some kind of a hypothesis then laws and logic will help deduce the unknown. But the unknown too gets transformed to a known or to a novel unknown. The colors keep on changing. 

It becomes both crowded and space at the same time. It is an everlasting duel. However, in this cosmic duel the essence and intricate details are lost. It leads to a chasm. A wholeness where you find nothing. It seems to me more like the transformation of a child from the mother's womb. But I question here my own thoughts — Is the child so the question or the abstract? 

Or the child is just a creation of thousand silences opening their mouth. You keep on feeding one and the other yawns open to be fed. And this process is so incomplete. It haunts your subconsciousness too. It follows you without faltering. Life has been silenced so much that it has become a tumultuous task to put words expressing them. 

I fail here!

Find me!

I have to learn yet again to be subtle. To conceal, to take my eyes away because I don’t want to be revealed. The gravest insecurity I have is to be discovered. I believe no one can be explored completely. But right at this moment, I need a cloud, some rains, a green meadow, a nightfall, a mist, a thundershower, some winter, some half-scribbled words to hide me. I want to just run away to my secret garden.

I can measure every ounce of this restlessness in me. I desire it to stay, to overpower all my words, my thoughts, my ideals, especially my silences. The reflection has ceased to show me. I can't see me, I have removed the steam, where am I? Where did I go? Find me.

The more I seek it, the more am lost and the more I grow restless. However, I don’t like it to be finished before I am. I longed for a closure, a closure that will brush an identity. The identity will acknowledge the warmth of my sun, my turns and returns, my concealment and revelation, my findings and my restlessness! Still I would ask find me!

To be born!

How good does it feel to be reborn? Birth involves a lot of pain. It isn’t trifle, it isn’t diurnal. To labor birth is something tremendous. It makes you not one or two, it makes you innumerable. Birth isn’t just for a moment or a day or a sunrise. It is beyond sunset and much before sunrise.

It is a space between thoughts, interludes of emotions, a breathless split. Born to live a plethora of silences, of sighs, of restlessness, of presumptions, and of course of longings! Isn't it? And even to meet faces. Faces that provokes thoughts. Thoughts that initiates your prayers. Prayers that turn the pages of your day. Day that bears the fruit of your life. And life that is born over and over again.

It is amazing to realize what a moment can give that might no longer be possible for a lifetime to reap. A word, a heartbeat, a night can do wonders! They really do! Each one of us is in inertia for that one thing for that one touché — before sunrise, before sunset.

There needn’t be a thousand flowers, there needn’t be that perfect snow, the early morning dew drops on grass blades; but it is that perfect gesture even in a forest of commotion. It might be the briefest of flash, but it will brush you blue, red, white, violet! And then you will be born, may be — before sunrise, before sunset.