A Bougainvillea’s Love
An Eucalyptus and a Bougainvillea, grew, side by side
Seasons changed, as the Eucalyptus grew, tall and wide
And the Bougainvillea smiled, with a bright pink flower
Spreading the colour of love, across winter and summer.
Youth came and she blushed, with a hue so rare…
As the tall Eucalyptus murmured, hoarsely, in the scented air
Oblivious to her colours, the Eucalyptus stood tall and fair
Unaware of the wild shrub, which grew somewhere?
HE was in search of a fragrance, delicate and so rare,
SHE had only colours, and no fragrance to share.
One last autumn, the Bougainvillea dropped all her leaves,
Next to the Eucalyptus, she slowly died, with none, to grieve…
Years have passed and many autumns have gone
In a brazen land, the Eucalyptus stands alone
In search of colour,
With Fragrance no more.
A burning desire to fulfill dreams
Dreams which grandma had, ma had, and I have
A burning desire to realise it
Before passing it down again to someone else
Who lives with the same desire
Unfulfilled, trapped in life
With ambition, imagination and ability
Lying trapped ....
A desire, to let it out
A desire, a self realization
Neither fame nor madness
But the happiness of self-expression perhaps.
Love is when my heart cried
But eyes didn't.
The moment when I saw my world in you.
Moments of bliss which were so few.
The understanding which went beyond words.
The domain no one could capture
With ritualistic swords.
The longing, the warmth, the remembrance
The mental embrace
Which went beyond life's surface.
Did you hear that tune?
Did the ocean try to listen to the sand dune?
Did the lake hear the lotus open her petals?
Did the tulip say, why she didnt feel like blooming?
Did you hear the crow trying to 'coo'
Plaintively, secretly, when the cuckoo flew?
Did you hear the moon talk to the hills
Without love, do you know how it feels?
Did you hear a voice trying to sing a song?
Full of pain, soft and yet so strong?
Dreams in daylight
I dreamt of fairies
And black berries
New born butterflies
Clouds holding hands
And glittering sands
Sunlit nights and moonlit days
Golden dews and silver rays
And I dreamt of you,
As my beau.
A young man with smiling lips
Plucked me ....
A blushing lady with shy red lips, kissed me
I am a fragrant red rose
With soft petals, lying close
Lying on a bedside table
Far from my garden and rhythms in trebble
Meant to be plucked for others love
Destined to leave my own alcove
To express others love, in human's paradise
I am a red rose, to express feelings in disguise
My lover, with his brightly coloured wings
Loved me with all his heart,
Till we parted that evening,
With a smile and no despise
A handsome 'butterfly' and a red 'rose'.
Candle Light Dinner
Two hearts met
To make up a fight
The candle kept burning
In an ice cold night.
The candle kept burning
Admist their fight,
The wax kept melting
And, not their hearts.
The candle kept burning
Admist tears and silence,
The candle kept buring
In darkness and distance
Till, love's flame stopped burning
Over a Candle Lit Dinner.
Poet or an Artist ?
A drop of red touched a small blob of water. Moving slightly in its excitement, the water droplet.
Trying to hold himself as he received the delicate 'farbe' in his arms. Like a ballerina the red colour landed on the white stage and held on to the water droplet’s arms.
And moved with nimble steps gently across the white stage.
They danced together on the white canvas, stroke by stroke. As the artist picked colours and expressed his palette of emotions. First gently then with haste and cruelty, letting out many colours, many dancers,
all at once, waltzing, and filling the canvas with their own emotions mixed with the artist’s.
I sat watching them perform. Artist and his dancers waltzing in seclusion and yet in uniformity. With emotions transcending mediums and surfaces and the limitations of joy and pain.
As the canvas went beyond red and white, beyond the gender roles of pink and blue and turned into a beautiful watercolour.
I sat envying them, a lonely person in the audience, in search of my own expression,
Not knowing whom to pick as my messengers:
words or a water droplet with pretty ballerinas in different colours
Yes, Yes, Yes, I am afraid to leave you and everything that comes with you.
Yes, I am afraid that if I step out in the rain, my life may get washed away.
And yet, I wonder, sitting inside and feeling out of life, am I not washed away already?
By fearing what might happen, haven’t I captured ‘fear’ already?
What if I decided today to step out in the rain?
Wouldn’t your love, which was perhaps a thing of yesterday, protect me under the umbrella?
Wouldn’t I see the beauty of nature, washed away from all its dirt and tear?
Let me not dread you rain, let me not dream about a sunny life always.
Life as I understand now, is for those who dare to walk in the rain.
A Day Nightmare
A white cloud drifted into my window frame
And my eyes looked at a dream which came...
A dream, about me, exploring a new country
Going to a doctor, with his office next to a paltry
Making friends with this doctor who was your dearest pal
I still remember his name was Banerjee and he was from Cal.
And one day, seeking the right moment, I said
'I feel so lonely and I know no fellowmate!
Friends who speak Bengali and look a lot like me?'...
He had a big grin, and dream in his big eyes
As he invited me to meet his best friends and American pies
And then one Sunday, I stood still at his door,
In my best silk skirt, jhumkas, and a heart so sore
Hair in french braid and angst to the core
I rang the bell and my fingers froze
Was it the chill wind, or death standing so close?
The doorbell rang, and some people pushed me in
A party was going on and was in full swing
I stood in the huge living room,
With cramped chairs and a curry smell
And looked around, and found you standing against the balcony rail
How handsome you looked, brighter than the yellow wall
Tall and lean, in a white shirt, jeans and shawl
How breathtaking you were, a man of fame in that hall
My lips locked my voice. My knees froze. And all I could hear -
A broken laughter first from pleasure and then silent fear.
Gurgling in me, rushing from my pit to my throat in full gear.
I was trembling as only I knew, that I was seeing a ghost
A man whom I desired and yet was never so close
For you were the devil, who made me a bad wife
Leaving my treasures in search for a quasi pleasure
And then, a woman and a young boy, emerged
And stood next to you and you protected them like your treasure
They circled you with more friends as I kept looking
I stood there for long, and I know you too felt a current
You looked around in search of another ghost
Visible and invisible just like you
We both had the same disease, you see
But I stood hidden, ready to flee.
And before Banerjee could show me off to you,
I had turned my back and slipped out of view.
As pain struck again in colours purple and blue.
I looked out of the window, and thought of fondue
The fondue night, when you and I met
With jazz in the background, and a table set....
Two little hands tugged my frozen arms
And I picked up my little bundle and looked beyond the farm
The doctor vanished and so did you
And I stopped daydreaming, and returned to my beau.
A 'Greenhouse' with a glass roof
Breeding 'hybrids' of roses and sunflowers
Fragrant petals flirting with colours
In a cultured society, well trimmed and well sought.
Programmed people in a modern, artificial world
Living in a 'Greenhouse',
With painted lips and hair curlers
Children with tablets, eating cola and burgers.
OR, do you want:
A 'Green garden' with an open sky
With thorny roses, growing on soil wet and dry.
Tulips, weeds and bushes with white bell flowers
With children laughing and playing at all hours.
Carefree people, with limitations and joy
Living in a mudhouse, with nothing to destroy
Children with innocence and secrets of a small boy
Unhinged and free, with no expensive toy.
Tell me my child, what will be your choice
A rich madhouse or a poor mudhouse?
As I lift you on my knees and play 'ghu ghu shoi'
Tell me, my child, what will be your birth choice for 'moi'?
Open eyes with a distant look
Sitting in a crowded bus with an open book
Shaking fingers, grasping an unknown page
Redefining love with dark colours of rage
Quivering lips no more wishing to plead
Those few words, which now makes him bleed
A life not lived, a distance which he could not bridge
A world she defined, with her own caste and creed
A distance which surpassed, all emotions and dreams
He spots her sitting in the bus, ahead of him.