I have suddenly become obsessed with poetry. I cant believe that I could ever hold on to any of my whims for so long.

Its been little more than a year when i first wrote a poem and I liked what I could do with words that by themselves were just words but gave a deep insight into the poet's state of mind when strung together.

Whenever I sit in front of the computer my hands on their own go to google and type the words poetry. Poems. Someone's favorite, my favorite, similar frequency.

one day mine? I have never dreamed of publishing any of my poems. I think there are greater poems that have been written by so many other people. And the most convincing reason would be that I am content to write it only for myself and a couple of my friends.

Came across this poem by a Kashmiri poet -Bilhana Kavi called BLACK MARIGOLDS (The legend goes that he fell in love with the daughter of King Madanabhirama, Princess Yaminipurnatilaka, and had a secretive love affair. they were found out and he wrote this 50 stanza poem while waiting in the prison. Waiting for his sentence- life or death)

Where beautiful things can be created is a miracle

in the gallows or under the deep blue sky!!!

wreck

I want to write and I want to write so much and then the thoughts are so private as well...
Sometimes you can not explain what you think or your opinion to people cuz they might not understand and from that become or turn hostile. At that point you lose faith in yourself for not being able to say what you have to say and think how can the other person not be able to understand that point when everything, every other emotion is understood or proclaimed to be understood.
I am not too sure whether I can back up all that I ve said in the above paragraph and again I want to write. It means that I would just write stuff for the heeck of it as well. Seems like it doesnt it? I think in the whole of my life that is the only question that I have an answer for!

I read my blog posts a couple of them and I am an Emotional WRECK!
I haTE it
and I beat Lakshman in TT... I actually BEAT lakshman!
He is a WRECK Too...
Kshitij is happy and GAY! wrecked a couple of gals lives.
Wrecked ship! saw titanic in my dream . . .

Adios!

untitled

a lone tear,
right
slicing through
chunk of pain

a droplet
on my left
hot wave of the trickle
jabbing clean me

palms facing into my face
arms on my breasts
heave, heave

a distant tune
rythm forgotten
awakens

a strenuous swallow
neck bent at an angle
words raped
repeated over
and ever too few. . .

Night

"Yisgadal, veyiskadash, shmey raba. . ." May His name be celebrated and sanctified.
In the history of Jewish men had ever before recited the Kaddish for themselves.

To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.

"With only one desire to eat I no longer thought of my father or my mother. From time to time I would dream. But only of soup, an extra ration of soup."

That was when i began to hate them, and then my hatres remains our only link today.

"Our first act as free men was to throw ourselves onto the provisions. No thought of revenge. Only of bread."

We saw flames rising from a tall chimney into a black sjy. A strange stench floated in the air.

"Very close to us stood the tall chimney of the crematorium's furnace. It no longer impressed us. It barely drew our attention."

I am walking down the path where people have fallen dead
the sunshine barely surviving, hanging by a thread
homes deserted, earth desolate
blood and soup are raw, left to percolate
the sticks and cries of agony long a fade
Burning masses of family picked up by a spade

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith forever

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live

Never. . .

Transported by foot from hell to hell
our mind, a place that our foot did not dwell
No father, no son bond ever could last
no future looked so bleak though a memorable past.
mere objects, tools
dancing, marching to the order
of men and men and men who ruled them.

Auschwitz I can do no more justice to you.
MT this post is dedicated to you. We never went dead silent except for this one. I wrote mine at last. . .

Hard to digest!

The funniest thing happened today.
I saw a book.
"Selected Love Poems by Hardy"

dedicated to all the students that had to read tess of d'urbevilles (even reading the summary counts) to pass in their exams!!!

(his poems are pretty good but comparing it with the book we had to go thru... boy! nasty)

Clear thoughts on a foggy day

amazing the clarity
that comes on a foggy day
morning, noon and night in disparity
thoughts that go fray.

vast space of white
engulfing anything
exsisting only, a mere far light
rudely in shambles, a mighty sting.

Can't fight the moonlight!

Gut talk

Have you ever felt that something is quite not right. there is nothing apparently wrong with you(other than the normal irregularities, subtle expression) but you know there is an impending doom, looming over your head.

The players are shaping up but ... i cant place my finger on what the next move is...
the games have begun... The dice is rolling. Now just have to wait for the message to be brought unto the world!!!

its not gonna be pretty. it never is. you can never be prepared.

non- optimistic thought. One of those things in life ...!!!