>> Monday, December 14, 2009

Employment of mind elsewhere as a therapeutic auxiliary has produced marginal improvement in this chronic blogger who shows pathological attachment to her scribbles which she calls poetry. She suffers from a kind of moral masochism in which the person arranges her/his life to guarantee setbacks. She lives the character’s (of the so called poetry/stories') fictional life complete with realistic sensations, submerging herself in other, complicated, gloomier life. The contents of this blog manifest displaced psychosexual ambivalence, need for a permanent partner, plus possible neurosis of destiny. That is why she needs to write again but she is trying to locate that fugitive object which made her write and return here to her rightful resting place. When that is done, you can read her ditties, which she claims can breathe, speak, clash, belch, bleed, and cry. Until then …….

Update : - 12th Feb.

Thank you for the comments everyone. Its nice to know that some people still drop by.
I am presently away from Delhi and terribly tied up.
To my amazement I find that my template has changed on its own. Quite funny.

Anyway, Apologies for this disappearing act. I'll be back in a month and visit your pages.
For the moment I am missing my city sorely and loved this article in HT. Hope you enjoy it too.
See you soon.


paused ..

>> Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Emboldened by the newfound sense of a lover’s urgency,
I decided to capture him on a canvas, switching from
pencils and charcoals to pens and markers, a riskier medium,
since each stroke was committed indelibly to paper,
my imagination took over, supplying from memory,
intrinsic shading, cross-hatching shadows, and blackness of
those eyes lit up by the magical incandescence of my kisses
their lofty plumes broken by silvery glaucous tones
I could spend a lifetime shading and refining one drawing
as he revealed his body to my pencils and brushes
but how could I promise living truly with him
for the rest of his life? Beneath the natural ogival cavity,
where his smile appeared, at the spot where lovers
caressed and women wished to consecrate, love was
quite worn away and polished. It was time to go home.
I was wandering the continent on an endless search
and then I thought it would be better to stay; where I was.



>> Tuesday, November 3, 2009

There awaited another encounter, not so lucky, with his grotesque boss. She was an angry sea suddenly rendered silent by secret order. He could imbibe her violet scents, just on the authority of last night.

Sun didn’t ascend everyday; that was one time; and one day wasn’t like the other.
“ma’m, you have an appointment.”


Matrimonial Site..

>> Friday, October 23, 2009

Unblinking faces, flat and numb, hair well combed, attire clean,
made for special customers , we are not displayed on stalls,
like posters adorning walls, advertising dentists, teachers, elocutionists,
fresh goods, recycled, from all over,
we seem freshly arrived or taken by some privateer.
At times our owners linger on the fringes,
shouting the virtues of their wares
to those who can not read the signs
more often, our posters do the shouting.
‘This elegant face lives a comfortable and gracious life
with their happy and healthy family.’

You’d think our physical descriptions sound like
Sunday customers at your grocer.
some probably are, I am one amongst many,
wherever I am. Getting ready to run.
Sitting on a gilded chair waiting for my bidders,
the icy demeanor not to melt. Through other windows
I can watch the show, shuffling back and forth, patiently,
everyone holding their signs to the windows, for us to see.

Some scurry over me in all fours, they pounce
I promise a list of referrals, photographs, records,
neither of us meaning a word of it.
I love being shocked,
growing wonderfully imperious and offended.
We meet often, exchanging subtle nods of recognition.
They keep fancying me as a runaway. My answers
to their questions are shapeless.
Nouns without verbs.
Lust. Desire. Connection. Weakness.
What I say doesn’t matter. What I don’t, does.

I want a man’s body, a man’s voice in the dark
I can not imagine a life with children,
in a house where I’d live and die, far from home.
I can not imagine building a hearth
that would put a soul in house shared with one
Not now. Not yet. I can imagine no future until I’d rid myself
of the pursuit of the present. I do go on.
There are a few people listening this time.
Its very difficult. You might try it someday.
Believe me, you’d sing a different tune
if you had to risk yourself; as I must.


An oblique verse

>> Wednesday, October 14, 2009

There were days this year that were nonsensical
listless hours that had nothing to do with you, though
in a strange way had everything to do with you;
days of cerulean tobacco fog and tea,
gossip and light talk, cocktail and bitter men,
gorges of crème caramel under tapered candlesticks
nights I’d clutch a pen and decanter
stirring random ounces of scotch with words
telling myself I’d review my efforts later
for the evidence of each potion on my poetry,
knowing damn well that the quintessential pith of
the exercise was an excuse to get rotten drunk
I began with an account of our longest kiss,
two mugs later squeaking aloud, writing
in a surly scrawl interspersed
on blots of alcohol dripping from gelid lips
suddenly I fancied myself in the pitcher
an addled figure galloping beside cubes and cups
cajoling, conjuring, imploring all that drifted
to carry me along to the future
that would make everything all right,
the future was immense, wise and rosy,
final abide of all who were drifting
so I’d said to myself, skim, skim to be a part of…
the first thing I remember about future is
how cold it was, faces hit by hurricane of letters
past settled on crevices like mounds of debris
the shelves of hereafter obscured by history,
stray moments bleeding onto the hearth,
I wished you were happy; with whatever or whoever
it wasn’t love described in poems, some rapture
wafting into the realms of bliss
was it leading us somewhere I could not go?
I hope you weren’t imagining a future with me
for I had no true vision of that future,
or whether I’d live long enough to have one.


Rendition of deficiency ..

>> Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Do you smell sweet-sick flesh out here, moths and lust?
skeletons hanging like scarecrows, their jaws framed into grin,
outlines of hazy dreams, a shadow, a pulpit,
a ragged tree and endless miles of self-churned mud

this is my world, my poetry, sporadic murmurs of "fuck"
strewn without heat, drowned by wave after wave of
swelling phrases, enjoining, parsing, rushing, flooding
language is bottomless, dark pool out of which

I rake spectral cinders of my thought, a blank mote in blank
muteness, grappling at nothingness I had aimed high,
addiction that had come with wanting to serve poetry,
then wanting poetry to serve me when a flurry of volcanic words

spewed out from my fingers, rage of crapulent antipathy
surmounted and my keyboard rattled, when it snowed outside,
the sight of letters dancing on the monitor was better
than a shot of whiskey, restoring my blood to pump again

you chew these discourses with angry lethargy dear reader ?
lurch past something you ought not see, this lengthy poem
makes no scrap of a difference, you plunge no further under its spell,
before exchanging even a word here we've reached the stalemate

publicness has eroded my intensity, you snare library mold,
words everyone else has forgotten, my biggest flaw?
absence of a living spark, so I’d become fire, as fire,
my only wish was to flame, to deplete, to develop,

dazed and burning I’d blackened my soul, thrown my notebooks,
vocabulary and keys that abandoned me in presence of desolation,
the fire laughed and devoured, it reminded me of
something nighttime; subterranean and clandestinely crude

a room full of shadows, more unfortunate than that lurid first failure,
from which appears no escape, this knot in stomach, I’d known before,
somewhere and somehow I’d failed there I have failed here,
in my own territory I stand defeated; Defeat is a habit too.



>> Thursday, September 24, 2009

Paltry squalls of rain spatter on panes
warming under the coverlet I switch off lights
hunger fighting exhaustion, both in combat
with the images of Y’s body
the combination of Y and X
has placed tremor in my heart,
where love postulates fearlessness
I know Y isn’t like X,
and that X is now loyal to someone else
all men aren’t like the men
I knew in high school,
college university work or net,
however their presence remains alive,
full of potential for illusions and betrayal
“Expectation” pushes at our backs
like deflection forcing us away
until it prods us into limbo
that perhaps is the only explanation
for what happened to X and me,
just as it may have happened to A and B,
the same will happen to Y and me,
inseparable as we may seem
destined to diverge from this union
it’s the law of motion, science of separation
we remain lonely in proportion, while
seeking refuge in wineglasses, kisses, shadows
letting all our notions of permanence
and posterity wait for the future
as rain whips the window-glass,

nodding; thus I fall asleep.


the delicious blur..

>> Friday, September 18, 2009

through milky rain
of moonlit night
glaucous glimmers
from your eye pupil
enigma like
gliding drowsily
crushing yet intangible
settling tenderly
on moldering hearts
spread in their
damask chastity
a hint of rococo
within roseate tinge
every trace of gray
ruddy streaks
on my pallid cheeks
the blush of
passionate kiss
when words cease
music scarcely begins
your half-closed eyes
look into mine
and life becomes
a delicious blur ..



>> Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The supreme solace is in suffering and the sole sapience is existence. When you forget to live and long to exist you’ve found your hell, which is more intoxicating than a potion of absinthe. Life keeps inventing something that would eventually lead to death, a long way to freedom. You do not fathom it in its arrogance and its pathos but you keep on trying. In this manner creation lures you again, with enrapturing hopes for the future which shall never come, and lulls you into dreams of more than mortal ecstasy, so while you listen to life’s siren strain, you sigh ..

Nebulous time, moments between
sleeping and waking engulfed me,
for a split second I was born again
as a graceful gazelle, a humongous
leap could alter present time, and
another better season could follow,
then the second past and I was me,
trapped in life, a time which,
goes on and on …

Reality this morning corresponded uncannily to a nighttime dream that I frequently had. The universe seemed contained of these moments in this room and the room was filled with music. I watched as my body began to quake and I saw my head snap back and my eyes roll in their sockets. My body froze and wriggled as if in a death-dance. The muffled half silence took on an underwater blur. Sounds lost their origin. It told me in some odd way that soon the pain would be cut in half. Why could I not make the first leap from my place out there and plunge deeper… ..

when time appears to loose it’s motion
when mind and body seem to drift apart
a rippled serenity, an eternal melody
free of our masquerade, our own lies,
reveling sublime joys which fears nothing
wishes naught, resents none, and
sinks deeper, into a delicious stupor…

There was an elusive figure dancing just in and out of sight. Certainly it was there, enjoying every minute of distress. I savored it too, not only to discover the strength and weakness of my own being but because it tied me to the only feeling that remained in the small world. Escape was the only thought, I didn’t want to be touched by any other notion. And then .. sunlight penetrated through the window .. clear warm sky crossed with broad swaths of illumination and a gibbous moon fading at the horizon, which gave enough luster for me to gradually gain a sense of the space I was in, although I lay just beyond tapestry safely silhouetted in the darkness, and life seemed miles away from there…



>> Wednesday, August 26, 2009

I awoke one night
to a quietness and stillness
I had never known before
the pigeons in the balcony
were not stirring,
the night-guard’s cane on ground
did not crackle,
the roaches did not come and go,
and even the ghosts
I had shared the room with
slept in silence.

It was at such a time
I had imagined
I would slip away to freedom,
a time when all the world
had their heads turned
the other way.

I peeked out
contemplating winking stars
in clear part of the sky
they were supposed to
guide me away
how ready I had been,
at ease, legs powerful,
heart desperate to stop
under another moon.

My eyes scurried into
the filth of the cavity,
drew something out,
something on life,
I wasn’t looking for life,
I was after extinction,
I shoved it back.

Death seemed to have
its own life
so much life that
it could come down,
walked over
and placed itself
over my body
fastening itself.

Death in its melancholic
regal cloak, laughing
exactly resembled life
I had witnessed in
great trench of weeping
I had found my death,
not the illusory land of
error and miscalculation,
but the real and true.

I had a zest for
enlightened extermination
No wonder I touched
the glory of my wounds.


Elysium of love

>> Thursday, August 13, 2009

Hallo, wallow, keep off me, we were no fucking lovers,
we were rivals, competitors, though we slept together,
dropping rough stones of rage in errant desires
it struck deep, it had lodged itself, I swallowed it down.

We practiced hate, both explosive and the effusive.
It kept us entertained and passionate for two hours.
He hadn’t lost his girth or his hair or that dark gleam of his eyes.
Tears swam into my eyes, burning there.
It was admirable I maintained that shield
without turning brittle behind it.

That monstrous burning, released me, kissed me
The first rush of adrenaline was gone, in its place was an innate disgust
for anything that crawled or skittered.
The acme of wickedness! He and I
circling a blizzard of marvels and shudders.

A daredevil glittering delirium stewed about us.
No one was permitted to enter though we weren’t alone,
spectral renegades flew from corner to corner.
With him I had fancied self-obliteration’s a cinch,
why annihilate myself while he ran freely about us?

After those infernal months of spinning like a little stick
in the glorious whirlpool of a cerebral orgasm
its better to get vainglorified, I’d let his hisness drive him nuts
my myness would to be shipped off on a quarantine
one long overdue and well timed.


(Un)rhythmical Life...

>> Wednesday, July 29, 2009



Life, that meager cache; I can get back to it,
unsympathetic, it appeals to some perverse streak
to seek out the very site that aroused bitterness,
an irony you can not fathom, no matter if I explained.
This intoxication is brief - a seduction, an illusion,
never lasting; then to be engulfed by oceanic rhythm of
denial and rebellion, volume upon esoteric volume,
the limitless kingdom of beats - not one of which
I wish to penetrate. I am a reckless poet,
I can be a woman of caprice, attachment to
a chimerical life is an explanation I was,
for all my mistrust of it, willing to accept.
I supposed it took me in fleetingly, like
optical illusions, where an image metamorphoses
into a different image, you cannot hold both images
in your mind simultaneously. So why run at all?
why run ever again? when you have no destination,
there is but a finish line. When you come to the end,
you’d find only yourself. The same unchanged.
The more you move on, the more you arrive at self.
I am not running any more, I am not hiding from life,
I believe I am waiting for it . …



What seemed an impregnable cache, immune to theft
was stolen, it was my rhythm, not your poetry,
my exegesis of symphonic life in that parallel music;
shall we speak of universals and eternals?
I lost my way during several attempts to find it.
The world is composed of sins, ruled by instincts
deeper than lethargy, virtue is vapor, more perplexing,
you are all around me in its bodily reminders,
the heaps of notes, cramped odors of obsession,
in the intimate intrusion of the massive bed,
where I’d lain with harmony in a hot drive
to dissent, to subvert, to fly like the bohemian
from what had passed for usual wisdom,
denying tedium, denying the given, the received,
the begotten, the whole solicitous silliness.
Behold! how these strings, wan and magical
flood the sinews of our melody, it was then
I’d caught, vibrating under your cajoling words,
an unsaid, electric burr that seemed to echo;
I had served my purpose: good-bye.


Tomorrow morning I am leaving with my parents for a small vacation on the hills. I’ll be back in 5-6 days. See you then.



>> Monday, July 27, 2009

You would never stray
from the path we'd both started on
leaving me to rub smudges
from a name that we share
for I am a storm
when I hadn’t been crashing
I had been brewing
inside you
this interlude we see
is a natural corollary of analogy
the logical ghost which follows impulse
if it can be shredded and scattered
lightening meteors are everywhere
corpuscles are both causes and effects
nothing has chassis or stasis
reason itself is merely a flux
passion seeps and seeps and never sleeps
and you, even you can be spurred
it isn’t love that has wronged us
we had run away from love
and my love
my silhouette is at all cost
guaranteed to linger
it is a force not a thing
a function that extends through the space
and therefore,
even if not wholly understood
it could be after a fashion,

Note : I barely had readers even prior to this longish break and I never liked moderating my meager comments. However certain abusive comments
have forced me to resort to comment moderation. Bear with me, if you can.


Duet (continues)

>> Friday, July 24, 2009

between passages of
subterranean calamities
sits a sibyl,
her voice,
a large cascading thing,
every inch of you
in her swelling voice
she reverts to harmony
usurping your words
to invent rhymes and stories
the tune is thin,
unclear and strange,
of unrecognizable scales,
there is no orderliness
it wounds and wounds,
a wire spiraling into abyss,
this is what she wishes,
to be formless
like this tune, wayward
no one to predict her;
no one to form her
the author of the duet
is grafted on her lace
the moment she is free
she would tear it off
from then on
she is all impulse.

Note : These two duets are the parts of a prompt session me and a blogger pal were having, wherein he started with Duet I and rounded off with Duet V. I wrote Duet II ( of hate - the previous post) and Duet IV ( continues - the current post) of this series.

I like this more than the previous duet 'coz I wrote this in one hour. One of the quickest stuff I ever wrote!


Duet .. (of hate)

>> Monday, July 20, 2009

torrent; rivulets collide on panes,
within, two wayward tributaries
coalesce into one decisive stream,
words we wonderingly recite,
ornate, now and then boldly archaic;
have a lingering stately pace,
on occasion halting altogether,
like a turn in dance, or rest in a march
it’s not the July torch spilling sweat -
it’s our conflagration, invading,
heaping up a pyre of love
in this room with the shut door,
out of which stutters the unsteady
nightly tappings of a duet,
spiteful mutterings and garbles
replace the coarse lovemaking;
we invoke secret spells, maledictions;
when the guttural tardy thunder
miles away, throws us into a daze
we leave; as numb as
a walk away from the funeral of
someone we dearly loved -
bereft and spent.


That's all you are...

>> Wednesday, July 15, 2009

This feeling, it came to me one afternoon,
I was caught in, the manacles of language
there was no theater but our ingrown proscenium
my ears secret labyrinths, your eyes secretive,
your velvety touch weightless, lit by
a tiny jewel in my annualry, treading phantomlike,
leaping from its tender perch
into the dusky corridor my lips
tunneling deeper and deeper
until I sank into the darkness of your mind.
I wasn’t watchful. I wasn’t suspicious.
I wanted your hands to keep close to me
the soft translucent web-skin between your fingers
to fondle…. I wouldn’t name what.

Aptly naming, is knowing what it is
exorcising and possessing, all at once.

All masks sunder or else all sport masks
In a bristling of remembrance and representations,
the past was the present, the present was past,
the meaning of one thing, was the meaning of other,
all meanings were one and into this cauldron of all-ness
a recognized evil burst, wearing the mask of you
behind it a cavalcade of upheavals unmasked,
a torn scarlet dress, dead dreams, soot
the lover who was not a lover.
And you; always you.
Invader usurper thief. All one.
An odorless odor, a fume adrift aslant
inside me, fiercely rotating lost runaways,
swallowed by oblivion like whiskey in the throat.

Merely another bruise in the house of bruises…………


Thanks to Ashen Glow – for remembering my parent’s anniversary along with her Birthday. It helped me kick my present hibernation ..

Thank you also to Untouchable Earth for the The Premio Dardos Award when I was away. Sorry for not responding then.


I wrote this piece yesterday, after latest fiasco. How I manage to get into the same old blah is beyond me too. If you wish to know more .. click here....

Now that I’ve written something after six months I felt like resurrecting my previous ‘home.’ Primarily b’coz I don’t feel like posting frivolous stuff here as I had intended to restrain this page for ‘serious’(so I think) writing. I don’t know if I succeeded but I’d tried.



>> Saturday, January 10, 2009

Something unforeseen has occurred, altering my life overnight. Presently I am not in my senses to elaborate, just that, life has become unendurable. It’s oppressive to breathe in this atmosphere, as of now. It isn’t possible to recover, I don’t want to either, ergo I need to get out of this apartment, out of this city, to grieve my loss and labor to live with it.

I have to board a flight in 15 hours, I have to pack and leave. It won’t be the same and I can’t be running away forever. I’ll be back, this is my city, this is home after all, and there isn’t much choice however that won’t be happening for at least a couple of months. I don’t have an Internet connection where I am going but I’ll try to connect when I have one and most importantly when I have the strength to go through this existence the way I did, prior to the misfortune.

I thought of scribbling a note before packing away my laptop for 3-4 people who’d always been kind to drop by this space and inquire about my well being.
Please be safe, be well, and be happy.
Until I see you again..
with prayers…


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