… … … this scribble is about hope, that unweighable weighty word, often bandied about ritually, and thus its message, its voice, may be blunted by repetitive bluster, so i’ll be a-scribblin’ along, with all the gusto i may muster, since we’re talking about hope, without which the human race, us all, all of us, i dare say, would not cope, ’cause imagine an absence of something, can’t put your finger on that feeling feeling, that oftentimes rocks at our souls, leavin’ our minds reelin’, yeah that’s right, but no propagandising today, though with me, at least, i can truly say, were it not for hope, that figment, blister on indifferent fates’ machinations, that belief, that burning in the pit of ones core, gnawing, gnashed teeth muttering, that all this pain too must eventually, pale, and that’s whats a-sometime the reason for us being heartful, and or hale, its hope, raw, deceptive, lyin’, corrosive, rusted but a-shineyed up, yeah that hope that keeps my heart pumping, its that hope that keeps me alive, and its that hope upon which, may all new flowers thrive … … …
Archive for March 6, 2016
walking through tombs … … …
bicycle rides to ancient tombs, stealthily traversing the bygone years,
those days and nights of delhi long ago, pluck heartstrings, a sitar being tuned, the cricket matches in the park, fetching the ball from monuments to long dead sultans,
feasting on a masala-dosa, my bike chained to the rusty pole next to the paan-wallah,
downing numberless cups of cardamom chai, in between home and school, bunking classes to catch the one song in a bollywood flick, sitting amongst the people, singing along in days and nights that used to be so full, so long,
now just a fading memory, of diwalis at the kumars, and eid feasts at home, intermingling with splashes of holi colour,
a synthesis of cultures, of faiths, of friends transcending caste and creed,
a delhite whistling beatles’ songs,
ah yes, nostalgia that sly deceiver,
be mine again, come to me in rain-swept monsoon nights, lit by a million diyas of softly flickering lights,
wear your kaleidoscope dress,
rekindling memories, stay with me, my eternal evergreen seductive mistress … … …
… … … cocooned memories of youth, of days gone by, tasting bittersweet fennel seeds, igniting nostalgic tugging, of playing on the dusty banks of the Nile, a taste of bygone flavours, from scents of willowy reeds to bittersweet fennel seeds … … …
Scribbled Verse 