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.

What does my rain smell like?

Newborn leaves,
Baby winds,
Luscious mud beds,
Vinyl whispers,
Two dancing feet,
Cooing bird heads,
Nuzzling cold noses,
Trippy skies,
And
Greens.

©nandinipradeep

Myrrha

“When it rains it is broad daylight in my mind, Krsna, even in the dead of night. “

In another day he was your man, standing on a brick,
A lotus that bloomed out of the mud—
But so miry is love that it made a God out of your man and a seeker of alms out of the woman.
Irony is when he is lost upon references and she revered in each thought.

“Long have I admired her, dear man, O but how, Krsna, have I become her without knowing it.”

I have waited on bricks in vain, I have written love in a thousand hymns, all upon a name,
I have fallen without bleeding, I have wept without tears,
I have bathed his shadow with the best words lest he fears,
I have drawn colors out of winter,
I have stolen swaras out of the winds,
I have made ragas out of my womb,
I have tuned each drop of my blood to play his lyre.

“But listen, Krsna, not he, only she could tell me about the future—”

Not the God, but the barefooted lover.
Not the ranks but the cracked, blood-dried heels know the way out of this vyuha,

“But how would you know, Krsna, you only know how to destroy in order to make anew,
She created the universe out of your broken bits,
Even a toenail would become a shell, each shell an ocean.”

©nandinipradeep

Thalia / Abundance

Every twig, every leaf 
Shall rise from the Dead;
Even Destiny shall only behold.
Death shall have no word over Life-
Heaven shall only be a tree,
A twig, a leaf.
Words shall resurrect Words
Of yore ‘n nigh.
Night shall reunite with the Night
And Life shall have the final Word.

Elven Desires – The Night

Elven folks might know
That nights don’t always
End like this.

Forever and Ever
Winding like a stairwell
Straight from infinity
And yon.

©

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. 

©

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.

 

©

Love Today

“Beneath your windowsill, I stood collecting your tears.
Those diamonds were precious to me alone over these years.

Now he came and robbed you off your luxury;
Did I not tell you that all men are not Me?

I am not them. “

“I cry because of you; wringing the pearls off my smile,
What pleasure do you gain?

Daisies bleed tiny red droplets of tears
And I alone see their weary wars.

Bees, like you, wasted the flowers
Leaving nothing but empty advices.”

I walk to and fro from one to the other;
Like walking two worlds, light years apart.

It rained, it froze, it burnt, it bloomed;
I alone walked this earth bleeding salt and water .

©

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.

©