The Boston Runners

 

When you burst crackers-
On our zeal-
We stand up-
Without legs
Stride on
With determination-

Raging storms
Bellowing battle cries
Our spirits don't die!
Slayers of peace!!

We live to race for victory
Singing slogans of Your Doom.

For those who suffered at The Boston Marathon Bombing 2013.

Remembering you..

Even today our love is young.
Strolling like couples
In the new Spring sun.

Been two years,
Still I whisper
The golden words
Each time I say your name.

Been two years,
Still I look for you
Among the dancing maidens.

Been two years
Still your perfume

Tantalizes my senses.

Been two years,
Since I was asked,
To stop counting
The merry springs,
The joyous summers,
The exotic monsoon
And
The cozy winters
I shared with you.

Its hard to count
The many Times
I lost myself in your love

Its hard to live
without you
by my side.

(in Honour of a colonel- who is so in love with his  late wife. )

The Hug

Holding close,
You whispered.
"take it all".

Breathing in a hug-
I took your warmth.
Took your unsaid words.
Took back my sharp accuses.

Took the reason to smile at peace.

Who Am I?

Who Am I?
Waiting down the line?
peeping over the crowd?
Nibbling a blade of grass?
Rubbing my toe?
Twisting my lonely curl?
Smiling at my hazy reflection?
Peeping out to greet the night?
Tilting my head shyly?
Batting my eyes coyly?
Giving you the teasing, questioning look?

Not your lover
Neither your wife
Nor the maam
You visit at nine.
I am your heart
Beating somber...

Against the door kept ajar
Below the whining moon.

Cynically Tender

How much it takes

To drop some hint

Down the brim

Of your luscious lips-

Into the painfully

Rational being called life?

Nothing-

It takes only a touch,

So tender,

So vile…

To robe

Me of

Cynical insanity.

Mistress of Begotten TIme

" I will live though beyond your days, with your warm memories wrapped around me sheltering me through lonely nights"

Planting those thoughts,
On the way to the chapel,
Where the soldier's wife,
looks over,
The new burial,
Fondly holding,
Within herself,
His caresses and promises,
His unlived dreams,
His mirthful deeds,
Hi last farewell,
And his unborn child.

The red firmament
Above
bows to the brave
Stopping at her
Quiet eyes
She will live
Unlike the others
A woman of honor
A mistress of begotten time
A mother to be.

my name...September XI

Imagine me-
A lean dusky boy
With an nontraditional
Mop of blond hair.

Imagine me
A boy with haughty eyes
But please look down

I am covered with smoke-
With blood,
with the last haunting words...
Of all those buried within
The crumbling Twin Towers--

Yes Maam! forgive my
trailing Voice-
I forgot to introduce myself once again.

I am, I mean- they call me-

SEPTEMBER XI

Blasting Us At Free Will

You rip us apart
Raping our fond memories
At the Gates of Law
Where Law keepers
Are not mute by watchers.
You sneak into our backyards,
While animals are busy stealing
Our paradisaical gardens,
You turn yourselves
Into flesh eating maggots,
Gnawing at our innocent existence,
Turning us into grotesque reminders
Of all those explosions- breaking
Us into blood coated pieces of sparkling mirrors!

It is not just today's blast-
It is not today's gory morning-
It is in the age-
Where you love burning
Fireworks in your flesh.

( My words of protest with regards to the Delhi High Court Blast)

Sky Bound

Flying high like never before..
Wings freed of disillusion
Soul bathed with penance
The eagle basks in the timeless sun...

The earth looks small from up here,
Though eyes can catch the hare's leaps,
The pigeons bickering,
And the rats squeaking in the holes of the ground.

Yet, no attempt does he make,
To dive down
And slaughter a life again.
He is soaring high-
Higher still-
Leaving this earthly bound
For another one.

Guest Post: Your Arms Around Me

How often have we shuddered in pain, shivered alone in the thunderous rain, How often have we looked about for a cozy embrace, saddened some more- when none was awaiting for us--My Guest Post speaks of finding the unattainable through simple dreams by the sea side..

your-arms-around-me

Lines of Revolt

Watching the steam
raising and revolting
every minute
The rain drops
Hit the parched earth.

No one accepts submission
Just like that...
Neither did she,
When they dragged her
Into the attic...
Neither did she,
when they whipped her
Every night with a cloth
Muffing her shouts of pain.
Neither did she,
When they drowned her,
Lowering her few-hours-old-little body,
Into the vessel of gurgling water.
Her final wail reverberated
Though the quiet homes
Down the road-
Just like the constant hissing
Of the perched earth.

kettle called life

Something of me,
Something of you,
Brewing-
Inside that kettle of life.

The twist handle
Recall our love,
The hissing spout
Narrate the tiffs.

Every morning when
It mounts the oven,
We have grown
Older, yet,
Stronger, though
swearing under
our hoarse breathe
"with you till death."

Tumults Undefined

If seas could define
Serene quietness
If fogs could define
Her gaze…
If earthquakes
Calamities
Put together
Claim her gait
The tumult
Of my passion
Would find
A mate.

Was it lavender,
Or the fragrance
Or the morning dew,
Was it
The smell of wet evening
Her hair emitted
While she twirled
To the rhythm
Of the pagan song?

This is not eulogizing
This is madness
Not like dragging heavy
Chain across marble floors
But like playing a harp
With the sinews of my heart.

Alas, she is so close
Closer still
Even perhaps breathing
On me...
Still,
I don't dare,
To touch her,
With fear,
Of breaking her
With my iron hands,
It is not the need,
But the urge to
Know,
Is she an apparition
That my devilish mind
Reflects
Is she a being
All by herself
Ethereal
And soulful
Her petal lips
Never end the mystery...

Streetlights

For a change streetlights

Bending over

The now deserted

Thoroughfares

Mumbling lullabies

Over the quietened

Softly rippling

Reflecting puddles.

The city embracing

Yet another spell

Of ecstatic monsoon.

Playwright Alive

Gone are the days of Shakespeare......this is the age of internet.we should have to think as per the requirements of our age.

Suvangi Niyogi

Gone are the days,
gone are the gentry,
the howling ground-ling,
the boys in woman cloths,
the writing attic,
Shakespeare is indeed dead.
his feather might have withered,
lost in the tide of time,
his words are still alive,
breathing
over the shoulders of
verses of Eliot, Yeats and others.
As WE are all
Hamlets,
Macbeths,
Caesars and Romeos,
from the time of our birth.

The alternate existence- a nightmare

(the following poem has been sent as a submission to online crosswords book store contest -"hearttalk")

The alternate existence- a nightmare

Failed to fathom the meaning of existence,

Churned out of the gutter of human pit,

The pigeon has got a single wing,

Her white coat greased with mud.

Time pieces glowing in fiery hell,

The gong keeps an unusual pace,

The pendulum has five extension,

Universe flipped upside down.

Wake up in seconds 

And greet the three glowing sun

The fifth moon last night 

Has lulled you to sleep,

Not the barn, the pub or the basement,

It is Dali's soul calling you out.

Verses Doomed

 

Rumbling voices, 

Whispering curses- 

Poetry developing 

A serpent tongue,

As the melting sun

Beside the horizon 

Sets free

Fatal acid on the run.

Scribbling harder

Happy might be the face,
But the lady
Has well concealed
Her tears.

Each time you
Pass by saying,
Perhaps with a
Hint of mockery
"What a pleasurable life!"
An undertone added
"What a painful waste
Alive"...

She bends her head,
Sighs
Stares up
Blinks
And
Scribbles harder
On the page.

if time series-2

If wheels could be shared

For a jolly ride,

the little feet would step down

to leave some room

For two more feet

race down the bickering lane

in docile mirth.

the if-time series-1

If sharing had its own meaning,

then a drop of cream,

licked out of a borrowed cone,

would help.

To remember,

the gift given by a kindred heart.