Les Fleurs du Bonheur

And the poet asked “Who will buy the garden’s sweet shivers? Who will buy the blissful mirth on dawn’s smiling lips?”
I listened to how my mother sang these lines, and for a moment I saw the young girl she was. She was too young to be a mother. Forever. But she was already one. Too late. How do one pay for someone’s lost days?

Love-carbuncle

Goodbye, Summer.

Goodbye to your needless persuasions, goodbye to the foam left on the coffee cups, left to dry over the lonely hours of togetherness.

Goodbye to the windless, closed rooms behind which love never bloomed, goodbye to a spring that forgot its way home.

Goodbye to the roads that led to long winters ahead of toil and daily tussles.

Goodbye to the fallen winter flowers and the moist eyes which closed not knowing the weight of autumn.

This Flame is Not Mine

Bright lights would perish, all of a sudden.
Those that persevere, ember to ember, flame to flame, shall remain.

Erebus shall dine on light, night after night.
You and I, we shall keep adding coal to this fire.

Gorging on corpses, Nekhbet saw afar a tomb-
Painted grey and red, darling I knew it was yours.

“Hide it from her eyes”, you said.
I stood bemused: “Are you a better lover or her?”, I asked.

Soul withers; alas, were you too bright?
I counted the pebbles nigh yon Nile amid your bones, teeth, etc.

Adieu to your flame, I said;
Along with life, death and other things.

©

Triste Infiniment

 

You and I, we’re infinite;

Hence it is fated that we’d never meet.

Parallel in universes 

Parted by mindsets,

United by tristesse infinie. 

©

T/N : Triste Infiniment : Infinitely Sad ; Tristesse infinie: Infinite sadness / melancholy

To My White Knight

Dedicated to Joonie (Joon), my lovely cat-friend, My White Knight. 

Under another sky

Where crabs fly

And dreams take no wings

I’ll come rolling

On to the meadow

To find you strolling

On a lazy every-day-afternoon.

Fishes and feathers everywhere

For you to play and fight with.

They, who were waiting

For their brother,

From a faraway Night.

You closed your eyes on me

As the pains embraced you.

I embraced your dying body,

Listened to your last heartbeats,

As I poured the last drops of water

You’ll ever have,

A drop of crystalline universe,

In your eyes, formed.

And then the warmth left you;

Your body, a numb monument

Of our memories together.

As I handed you over

To the Other World,

I let myself fall

And rise again.

I thought words were all that I had

But you taught me they were not enough

To bid you goodbye.

– In Memory of My White Knight. 

©

വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങളുടെ കൂട്ടുകാരി

 എന്നില്‍ നിന്നും നിന്നിലേക്കുള്ള അകലം ഒരു വര്‍ണ്ണമാണ്. ഞാന്‍ ഏത്  നീ ഏത് എന്നറിയാന്‍ പറ്റാത്ത വിധം അലിഞ്ഞു ചേരുന്നതും ഒരു വര്‍ണ്ണം. അങ്ങനെ എത്ര എത്ര വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് അപ്പുറമാണ് നീയും ഞാനും ഉള്ള ഈ ലോകം ?

വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ ഇല്ലാത്ത ഒരു ജീവിതം ഓര്‍ത്ത് നോക്കിയിട്ടുണ്ടോ ? അങ്ങനെ ജീവിക്കുന്ന എത്രപേരുണ്ടെന്ന് നിനക്കറിയാമോ? അവര്‍ക്ക് വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ കാട്ടിക്കൊടുക്കാന്‍ നീ ശ്രമിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടോ? ഇല്ല അല്ലേ ? 

 

നിനക്കു ഭയമാണെന്ന് എനിക്കറിയാം. വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ നഷ്ടമായാലോ എന്ന ഭയം. ഒരു തീനാളം ഊതി കേടുതുന്നതിനെകാട്ടിലും എളുപ്പം എരിഞ്ഞടങ്ങുന്ന ഈ ജീവിതത്തില്‍ ഭയത്തിനിടം  ഉണ്ടോ? നീ എന്തിനേ ഭയക്കുന്നു? എന്തിനു?

 

കാലം കാണിച്ചു തരുന്ന വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ നമുക്ക് പങ്കിടാം എല്ലാപേരുമായി . അങ്ങനെ ഒരു നൂറായിരം വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ കൊണ്ട് ഈ ജീവിതം നിറയ്ക്കാം. 

 

പാഴ്സ്വപ്നം ആണെങ്കിലും നമ്മള്‍ സ്വപ്‌നങ്ങള്‍ കാണുന്നില്ലേ? അത് പോലെ ഇതും നമ്മുടെ ഒരു സ്വപ്നമാക്കം. 

  പക്ഷേ വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ എങ്ങിനെയാണ് പറഞ്ഞു കൊടുക്കുക? എന്‍റെ വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ നിനക്കും വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ ആകണം എന്നില്ല. മിഴിനീരില്‍ കലര്‍ന്ന കരിമഷിയുടെ വര്‍ണ്ണം എനിക്ക് മനപ്പാടമാണ്. നീയാകട്ടെ ആ സ്പടികമുത്തുകള്‍ പൊഴിയുമ്പൊഴെക്കും എങ്ങോ നടന്നകലും .

അകലങ്ങള്‍ക്കപ്പുറം

നീയും ഞാനും കാണുന്ന വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ ഒന്നാകണം എന്ന് ശാട്യം പിടിക്കാന്‍ ഒക്കില്ല. 

അകലങ്ങളില്‍ ഉള്ള നിന്നെക്കാള്‍ പ്രിയം അടുത്തു വന്നു എന്റെ കണ്ണുനീര്‍ തുടയ്ക്കുന്ന എന്‍റെ പ്രിയ സുഹൃത്തിനെയാണ്. നീ വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ ഇല്ലാത്ത ഒരു വര്‍ണ്ണമായി മാറുമ്പോഴും എന്‍റെ ഓര്‍മകളില്‍ അത് മറ്റൊരു വര്‍ണ്ണമായി പ്രതിഫലിക്കുന്നു. 

 

കാലോച്ചയുടെ വര്‍ണ്ണവും കുപ്പിവളയുടെ വര്‍ണ്ണവും കേട്ടറിയുന്ന എത്രപേരുണ്ടെന്നു അറിയാമോ? അത് കണ്ടു നീ ചിരിക്കുമ്പോഴും കരയുന്ന എത്രപേര്‍../… …. .എന്നിരുന്നാലും വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് അതീതം ഒരു ജീവിതം ആലോചിക്കാന്‍ എനിക്കാവില്ല.

 

കണിക്കൊന്നയും ഓണസദ്യയും പുലിക്കളിയും തുമ്പിതുള്ളലും എല്ലാം കൊണ്ട് വര്‍ണ്ണശബളമായ കുട്ടിക്കാലവും മുല്ലയും തൊടുകുറിയും തുളസിയും കസവും പൊലിയുന്ന യൗവ്വനവും എല്ലാം എനിക്ക് പ്രിയമേറിയതായിമാറി. അപ്പോഴും റോസയും ചോക്ലേറ്റും വാങ്ങ്മയ ചിത്രങ്ങള്‍ കൊണ്ട് കോര്‍ത്ത്‌ എടുത്ത എഴുത്തുകളും ഒക്കെയായി നീ എന്‍റെ മുന്നില്‍ വരുമായിരുന്നു . ഇന്ന് ഞാന്‍ ആ ഇന്നലകളിലെ നിന്നെ എന്നെന്നേയ്ക്കുമായി മുറിച്ചുമാറ്റുമ്പോള്‍ നിനക്ക് വേദനയാകും എന്നറിയാം. ആ വേദനയുടെ വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങള്‍ നിനക്ക് നേര്‍ന്നുകൊണ്ട് നടന്നകലുംബോഴും ഒരു വേദന ഞാന്‍ കടിച്ചമര്‍ത്തുകയായിരുന്നു .

വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങളുടെ കൂട്ടുകാരി ആയി ജീവിക്കുന്നതാണ് എന്നെ ഞാനാക്കുന്ന വര്‍ണ്ണം എന്നു ഞാനറിയുന്നു. വേദനകളും സന്തോഷങ്ങളും എല്ലാം വര്‍ണ്ണങ്ങളായി കണ്ടുകൊണ്ടു ഞാന്‍ മുന്‍പോട്ടു നടക്കുന്നു. കൂടെ വരുന്നോ?

 

 

 

©

Heart Lights

Sometimes inspiration comes from places you’ve never heard of. Sometimes, it comes and you don’t answer the door. Sometimes, a hand holding yours seems warmer than your mother’s bosom. Sometimes a kiss would mean the world to someone. Sometimes somebody would pick you up and show you your right place and price. Sometimes, these dreams seem futile.

I started to write because I wanted to improve my handwriting but for you it might be your dinner or your wildest dream come true. I wasn’t made a star but I was born one. I do not shine for all like the sun but I wink with sparkling eyes at that special person. Sometimes, you never find that special someone.

When I walk the streets they look at me for I just walked out of their dreams. They say “he is my inspiration” but I have none. I walk alone without any inhibitions. All I got is time, leisure and power. What I lack is will. Will I?

That was the question. That was always the question. Sometimes, you need to ask the right questions. Answers are irrelevant. Someone did say so but I guess I was too busy with the question to notice who it was.

I walked into the rain, I walked all along with the sun and I walked out of the snow: I was. No. I am Perfection. But doesn’t that mean that I lack nothing? I believe I don’t. I don’t.

They often talk about a thousand different memories. I sing about them and they echo my lyrics. But what about my memories which always had four walls of thickest concrete about them? Am I a prisoner? But I am the only one who has known true freedom. I am that person who can touch anyone as per his whims while no one can touch him unless he desires that touch. And yet, he remains untouched by humanity. Only perfection touches him. He became Perfection.

Like the Sphinx, like Tireisias, like the Ardhanaareeshwara, he was complete in himself. Yes, I lack nothing; I am complete.

But when I touched her, a droplet of crystalline blood spilt from her chalice and I realized my imperfection. And she, like a naiad from my wet dreams, vanished into a puff of cassia fumes. For the first time, I realized my incompleteness. I wandered like a Fakir in search of that true music of my soul. She was a soulful melody who danced to my Sufi heart’s rhythm.  I became a wandering sage and she became my melancholy. A happy melancholy. Transience became her eyes and through them I saw the Baul in me. My Iktara became I, me, myself.

And she talked to me for the first time. The ghunghroo of her feet matched my Damru’s joyful skipping of heartbeats.

Dugeun Dugeun.

My heart beats.

Dugeun Dugeun.

Her face seemed familiar for the first time and I recognized. It was she. My eyes, my ears, my taste, my smell, my touch, my emotions: it was all her. She was my all. She was me and I am she.

And I entered my trance, yet again. I was complete, again. I am complete, now. You are my inspiration. You are the light that illuminates the darkness of my heart.

Darkness, beautiful darkness.

 

©

Stars of Destiny

Dedication

Jang Keun-Suk will always remain to be a bright star that ignites the minds of many and this I dedicate to him. Be the same, Oppa.

Stars of Destiny

There was a Star weeping in my horizon when I woke up from that nightmarish slumber. His reddish gaze melted my icy eyes. Why are you hiding in the dark corners of the Night, I asked him. Sometimes the dark visage of the Night is brighter than the bright agony of the Dawn, he retorted. But why do diamonds run down your cheeks like this; I wished to pacify. The Moon, the Moon – he wept with a roaring sound. But the Moon is just miles away from you, I said. Why do you cry? She will be with you in some time, I smiled. She’s dead, he told me. She’s dead! The blood drained off her cheeks. The Sun sucked the darkness out of her. Now she’s but a corpse. She’s dead, she’s dead! He wept with a roaring sound. And he fell from the high Heavens.

I, who was waiting for him, caught him swiftly. Deep in my heart, I felt the pangs of guilt as I secretly enjoyed the fall, for I knew that he had a different destiny. Moon is not thy destiny, I sighed. Blasphemy! He roared. You speak venom! He spitted fire at me. The Moon, my Moon. He wept.

In a fortnight’s time, the Moon entered her bedchamber to shut herself away from the hues and melodies of the outer world. And he wept for her all through the day and the night. So I held his hands throughout the day and the night and I saw him breathe moist smoke and felt his chest burn in the acidic melancholy. It hurts, I know. I told him. Hold my hand, please. I told him. And the pain will course through your veins into mine. I told him. And we will be joined in the pain, I told him. He didn’t recognize the warm guilt boiling in my throat. He didn’t recognize the sweet love beating against my chest. But he knew that I could be trusted and he gave me the promise of sharing. Of sharing pain. Of sharing.

As the petals of the days that came by opened one after the other, we blossomed as blooms of the same wild shrub. His pain made him glow and my love made me so. We conducted the clouds as if we were Mozarts of our own realm. We drew tales in the water with our own blood while the swans read them with red pleasure.
What are you afraid of, I asked him. Of losing her again, he told me. But you don’t have her now, I pitched in. But if I did, I’d never want to lose her again. I cringed at the thought of that union. My sighs became little whirlwinds that made the maple trees shed their pristine red autumn’s share of leaves when it was only the earliest of spring.

Danpung-Nori.

They say maple trees constantly looked for something new; somebody new. For once, I hoped that they will make him look. Look for me? I begged my sibling maple spirit.

Maples reminded me of them. Mahua. Mahua, my sisters. I have basked in the glorious wine of their youth in the vain attempt to reach the skies; to reach him. They always told me that it wasn’t my time yet. I wish if I could see them again. And ask. Is it my time?

We floated on the clouds that took us to the heights of spring. The dewy blossoms smiled at us and we, as blossoms of a new world, camouflaged our radiance in a gleeful smile. The bright diamonds giggled as their crystalline shadows were cast on our feathery skin. Sunlight, he said, and smiled sadly.
I had to do it.

I leant towards him and placed a kiss, softly, on one of those reflections and they wavered in coy innocence. A drop of blood started to spread its roots across his otherwise pale face. The redness conquered his beautiful face. And I smiled sadly.

The sadness evaporated as he drew it out of my lips with his. Like a chill being pulled out from your chest through your mouth. A sweet chill. A chill you love.

A star, I own. I laughed in harmony with the laughter in his eyes as I said it.

And a star I made, that no one else can ever have. He said it with a proud, glittering smile.

Those eyes, those eyes! They make my breath vacillate in between my lungs and my throat. And yet, they are mine.

The Wings of Glorious Love swept us away from the clouds and hid us beneath its magnificence. The clouds played symphonies that were never heard before in Life or Death. The Wind passed invitations to watch the royal revelry of our love sealed in these Wings to all that’s ever walked the skies.

And a dew drop fell on to the Earth. And it was green and red and yellow and white. I held out my arms to him. Amidst all the whites that covered us, a red thread of passion, which grew out of my veins, exultingly rushed to meet his veins. And in that moment, we were one. Inseparable. Congruent. Yin and Yang.

The Night and the Dawn conjoined. The Stars in the high Heavens gleamed with pride. The mystery unveiled itself as it happened. The Earth stood in all stillness; in awe.

A new star was born. Born.

©

Under The Cherry Trees

Have you ever, even for once, thought that teaching little kids is an easy job? It’s not. I am telling you from my own experience.

Late at night, when all my best friends were probably snuggling cosily with their husbands or boyfriends, I was evaluating the answer sheets of twelve year olds. Quite a life, I have.

You know what I do when I get stressed out? I read poetry. I am that awful writer who always wished that one day I might write something which I wouldn’t regret later on in life. That never happened. I still write like a lovesick teenage girl. Yes, you got it right. I wouldn’t do well as a feminist.

I ran my fingers through my bookshelf and randomly picked up a poetry book and surprise, surprise! It was Blake’s lucky night. As I imagined a fiery, ever powerful man, pouring the flame of his candlelight into the sockets of a tiger which he just sculpted out of thin air, I stood awed. The tiger’s physique and the description were truly sensuous, to the point of hyperventilation even; that is if you know what I mean. The only relief I had after this quick escape to the realms of the imaginary was that ‘Twilight’ was not the first or only book in which people romanticized animals to the point of eccentricity.

I rushed to the kitchen to ease my restlessness by finding something to munch. I quickly made some salad, so that my hunger could find its salvation. Quietly gobbling down the vegetables, I switched on my laptop to find someone online to chat with. Apart from few random friends, nobody was online. At least, not the people I wanted to pour my heart out to. I was getting more restless with each passing second. What can I do?

I woke up the next morning to realize I got only two weeks of vacation left. Two weeks from now, the school will reopen and by then I’ll have to evaluate all the papers and make progress reports too. Surprisingly, I finished all that yesterday night. The perks of having nothing much to do, I should tell you.

I started packing after breakfast. I’ll have to reach the old farmhouse by the evening and set up the ambience for the meeting that was going to take place on the 13th of June. My best friends and I had decided to meet after 10 years and it was day after tomorrow. Even though we were in touch, thanks to technology, we never really got a chance to meet up not even once in these ten years. Five of them were married, two engaged and the one left has been in a steady relationship for 8 years now. I’ve always been the black sheep. An excellent example for the after effects of “playing with the fire”, I was. Some of them call me “commitment-phobic” and the others think I am too proud to be in a relationship with a man. Truth to be told, I got heartbroken once and then I promised myself that I’d never get to that position ever again. And I believe in keeping promises.

When I got to the old farmhouse, it was as quiet and beautiful as ever; like a loving mother, waiting for her children to come back. Look at her; she will forgive us all for our every sin. I asked the housekeeper to clean the place up and decorate the place with red and blue lights: fire and ice would be the theme. I set out to the town to order some flowers for day after. The florist’s place was literally “heaven on earth” with a hundred varieties of flowers and leaves adorning its every nook and corner. I smiled melancholically and they smiled back at me as if they knew my secrets; my pain.

There is this view of the lake on the way back to the farmhouse. There are these wooden benches and a boulevard of cherry trees. I always wished to live in a place like this. Never really liked the din and frenzy of city life, I should add. I sat down on one of those benches and conversed with the water and air about their own beauty. “How come you never age?” I asked them. They laughed and told me that they change with every rain and every drought; “It is you who don’t change”, they told me. “You can die, we can’t and therefore, you are luckier than us; we are cursed”. They looked sad when they engrossed themselves in their melancholic ramblings. I sighed and looked at the sky. She acknowledged my sorrow and sighed with me and the winds roared across the cherry trees.

With my eyes fixed at the distant nothingness, I failed to realize a dark, tall and lonely figure approaching me. It came and sat next to me. The wind brushed past our faces. The long lost fragrance of memories burned my nostrils. “I prayed much that you wouldn’t come”, I said. “I am cursed with a remarkable memory. Even though the optimist in me was made a martyr of love 10 years ago, I never stopped believing in myself”, he said. “Well done, Ry. You’ve managed to keep yourself as insane as you were”, I told him. I stood up and started walking. He followed me.

We walked into the realms of our past. There stood the younger version of us, holding hands and looking at each other with eyes that spoke of profound sadness. That was the first time he broke a promise: let’s part, he told me then. The Us from the present walked further down the memory lane and reached the college gates. Sports day, it was. Sitting in those stands with friends and watching the finale of the intercollegiate football match where Ry was a midfielder, I was waiting for them to win and to end the long awaited suspense. In twenty minutes, I did break it to Ry.

He proposed in the first year and me, being the haughty New Girl, rejected him and stuck to the Lets-Be-Friends theme. And on that last football match, I proposed to him. He accepted with a cheeky smile that said “You are stuck with me forever, girl”. One more month and college would end. But we were waiting for the end as we planned to make it all known to our parents. We were the craziest couple you could set your eyes on. Our wordplay was quite famous in the whole friend circle. Even more famous were our weird fights – yes, we used to fight for fun. We were that couple who enjoyed being at each other’s throat at every given opportunity; but our love was evident even in those cat-eats-rat games of ours.

The excitement and the adrenaline rush kept on increasing with each kiss and every slap. On the eve of the very last day, he proposed to marriage – the only thing left to do. As always, the coward in me rejected the notion. What was my excuse? We are too young to be married. He was furious. We got into a fierce cold war which resulted in a physical fight and eventually, in sweet lovemaking. I was leaving the next day and we won’t be able to meet up for years. Neither of us liked the idea. So we went for a therapeutic walk. Under the cherry trees, we sat reminiscing the past for a long time. A mad tripe of our insane days together flashed before our eyes. We were meant to be together, said our friends’ adoring eyes. You’ll be remembered, chanted the college walls. So we decided to part and meet in 10 years if we were really meant to be. It was then that he broke our promise. He cried. I never wanted our last meeting to end with tears. But he had to cry. That was how it was supposed to be. So much so that the poetry in his tears rung in my ears even after a decade.

My eyes found its destination and it was reciprocating the gaze. Ryan. How much I missed you! My eyes told him thus. You can read my eyes but I can read your sighs, said his eyes. I have been reading them for 10 years, give me some credit! – He added. I passionately gazed at those windows that showed me my dream. It came true.

“Can we walk into the future together?” he asked earnestly. I thought for a while. “Yes”, I said.
The sky split open to shower us with heavenly fireworks. Invisible crystalline flowers kept tickling us as it fell on our bodies. The Night conquered us with a majestic sweep of her arms. We stepped forward to enter into that wild dance with which the wind was engaged. It swept us off our feet and threw us into the crescent where we landed, giggling wildly. The laughter transgressed the boundaries of inflaming lust. And in that ecstatic moment, did we close our eyes to open it in the split of a second.

I found myself alone, waiting for the night to wake me up. I stood up and followed the quiet path to the old farmhouse. The grassy path whispered an occult chant into my weary ears. But I was too engrossed with the rhythm of my footsteps. An eternity awaits me. Not many get a chance to go back and change the past. My firm footsteps annoyed my tiny grassy friends but I marched on. My heart and foot marched hand in hand to go back to that day, to Ry and to a future that never existed before.

©

Are you real?

Lost in the valley of pain
Ne’er did I realize that it had to end.

Immersed in the sense of sorrow,
I tried to reach the lid of my life.

I failed to love, I failed to live;
I failed in every way.

I trusted you more than I trusted them,
Who made me what I am.

All I got was a card;
Yes, I am glad that you’re happy.

But I can’t lie anymore:
To myself and to my world.

As I dived into the valley of ignorance,
I caught one last glimpse of you.

And you were smiling.

There were nights when I couldn’t sleep. Most nights were like that. I suffer from the disease called love. Even when I am out of it, I cry for love. Not the lack of it. But what I had, once. ©