Tag Archive: heart


u n t i t l e d

running,
                   in flight,
                                  bracing the currents,
                       thrashed against the cliffs,
                of jagged fate,

broken-in, kneaded into acquiescence,

worn-down,
                     stretched-thin,
soon-to-be yesterdays trash,

dumped,
               strewn in the muck,

filling landfills of destinys rubbish bin,

bashed by chaotic waves,
headed for,
                   primed,

course set,
                   for yet,

another controlled crash.
                                         
         

image

watching the building ablaze,
the smoke and flames,

live on tv,

hearing the accounts,
of people fleeing for their lives,

when slowly,
the televised footage split into two split-screens within screen,

or maybe it happened in an instant:

on the left-side – the building on fire, anchors and guests talking about how this could have happened etc.

and on the right-side – the viewers are informed that the new years eve dubai fireworks display will go ahead etc.

and then it happened,

the countdown began,

5 … 4 …

and by now the entire television screen showed a sailboat building burst into a fireworks extravaganza that may have lasted 25 minutes,

more or less,

while the building ablaze,
just over the bay,

burned away.

and the cheering was audible,
the gasps and oohs and aahs,

and I was dumbfounded.
and no one was saying a thing,

and I felt I had finally,
lost all sense,

i must be mad, i thought.
you are, a voice replied.

all because this did not make sense. at all.

normally suchlike razzmatazz pomp & extravaganza,

and people fleeing burning buildings,

hardly ever meet.

and now, they collided,

making it stark to mad me,

that just as the old saying goes,

the show must go on.

and,
furthermore,
perhaps more ominously,

the show will go on,

to put that magic sparkle into a million waiting eyes,

no matter who fries.

      ________________

pic courtesy: http://www.johncoulthart.com

on repetition: new years day …

the years have chased,
cajoled,
time has a-rambled & a-rolled,
just another year,
where loves’ wares,

love, the commodity,
and us, all of us,
mere commodities,
traded as futures,

hastily stitching gaping wounds, with superficially strong sutures,

add some smiles bought and sold,
dignity bartered,
amalgamated, merged, lost & battered,

thin skins moulting,
spawning breathing thicker skins,

just another year,
same dreams to be shattered,

no bleating hip-hip-hoorays,
just the ever-fixed smile,

bright teeth bared as hands morph into machetes, hacking,
gleefully as the beast slays,

and while some burn, the fireworks elicit oohs, many an aah,

with kafka in the shadows, shaking his head,
this is farce gone too far,

to dampen the collective hope,

not more crumbled platitudes,
meant only to soothe, to apply the balm, to help the other half cope,

with what,

just another year,
reborn, the umbilical cord cut,

just another year,
working, eating, buying, buying,

as we scamper ever on,
with our eyes sewn tightly shut

on hope: tomorrow is ours

image

years ebb, flow,
tangoing the same old dance, rehashing the same tired show,

temporarily anaesthetised,
inured,

cured, from the accursed affliction,
buy, drink, eat, and buy some more,

as the machine grinds flesh and bone,
rendering hearts frigid as stone,

years like tides, slip away,
sweeping this beach of dreams,

common dreams, shared through the uBuntu of being human,

hope, for a less harsh world,
more food, less war,

education, not the burning of books,

treating each other as human,
shedding the cloak of indifference,

to revel,
all of us, the people,

bathed in the warm light of true freedom, real justice,

as bigotry, hatred, racism, misogyny etc etc etc in the corner cowers,

for we shall always,
always, be many, many more,

for tomorrow shall dawn,
and the future is ours …

image

on fate, destiny & futility: starstuff …

image

stringed, strung,

theoretically plausible,
infinite universes within a bubble,

floating in the space, between spaces,

where time, and days and kisses and tears and fears and smiles and anger and all of this and lots of that,

oh and faces,
all blurring into nothingness,

starstuff, is all,
agonisingly close, or chillingly far,

starstuff is all,
we ever were,

starstuff is all,
we still are …

        ______________

inspired by Dr. Carl Sagan

on compromise: half-measures

on compromise: half-measures.

galloping, striding, marching,
hand in hand, lovers in the sun,

sozzled, numb,

to hell with what is real,
what bleeds, who feeds,

its salivating, seducing, irresistible,
fun, fun, fun,

chasing fleeting pleasures,
momentary, vanishing between blinks of unseeing eyes,

tempus fugit,
                        as time flies,

paying obeisance,
to house & home,
the car, bar,

ameliorated apathy,
dousing guilt,

with the blade of excess buried deep,

embedded to the hilt,

filling our lives with half-measures,

skewered in the pan,
flashes,
of ashes,

not savouring the drop of dew, the nectar of life,

instead striding, marching,
galloping, on and ever on,

to empty, hollow pleasures,

this is life,

lived out, dumbed down,
in glitzy,
half-measures

scarred by gentle caresses,
ripped apart by tender kisses,

fractured within,
a ceaseless masqurade without,

when,
           does the ache mend,
lose its sting,
                       soften the blows,

while destiny,
                        fate,
    tomorrows not yet dawned,

shedding tears for pain unmourned,
                     battered blue,
                     and black,

always an arms reach away,
from my weathered backpack,

to venture, to plunge,

into the waters of chance,
where hopes dreams joys,
all dance,

a lifetime away,
yet embossed on the mindscape,

a fleeting moment,
vanishing,
                  an eternal nostalgic glance
                    

on futility: my flaccid tongue

words scrawled, scribbled,
excised, living breathing feeling,
             wrenched,
             amputated,
             inured,

words, scribbled scrawl,
bloated on self, bulbous grotesque ego,

urging,
            cajoling,
                           purging,
            contrived hysterics,
            lofty idealism, crass,
            authoritarian brass,
            wooden, ablaze with
            mock shock,
            and awe,

thrashing around,
words, scribbled scrawled gibberish,

flaccid, as the tongue,
from which they were wrung.

jo’burg breeze

tasting you,
                     breathing you,
                    feeling you,

                    exquisite,
                  bittersweet
                     touches,

undulating,

swaying in the jo’burg breeze,
             
             for just knowing you,
          infuses emotions of mirth,

of simple joys,

                         of peace …

image

cloaked, shrouded,
misted within silver clouds,

moonlight slips, slides,
cascades,

drizzles down,

like her soft hair,
her velveteen swirls,
twirls,

that caress my face,

like moonlight,
on an overcast jo’burg night

image

strumming moments

strumming moments

notes,
discordant, awash in today,

plucking strings, teasing chords,

strumming along,
tuneless …

my song 🎼

why do i miss you …

… strange are the ways of fate,
stranger still,
is my aching heart,

my thud-thudding heart,
’tis all yours,
through and through,

why, you may ask,

but,
i have not a clue,

but ’tis true,
i don’t know why,

i miss you …

Tears that Drown

why do tears fall
like rain,

slashing, flogging
splintered faces,

drowning in pain

peace | love | uBuntu

finding myself …

if she asks
                   do tell her

      it was having lost her

              that led me down the path

                           to finding myself

at last

Port of Call

Port of Call
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,
swoons,
 
and dips.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,
 
feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.
 
 
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
 
alone, not lonely,
 
I have found, at long last,
 
my final port of call.

My Heart is with You

My Heart is with You…

Far too much has been said,
too many miles have been tread,

it looks like the end of the line,
keep it safe, that old heart of mine…

The Nearest Exit

The Exit …

… discarding memories,
suffocating in nostalgia’s throttling grip,

I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,

seeking, yearning,

chasing phantom clouds of promise,

coveting shrouded whispers of hope,

seducing empty vessels of belonging,

I flee, moment by moment,
away from the now,

seeking, yearning,

lost, alone, torn,

slowly crawling to the nearest exit

The Slothful Musings of an Indicted Leech …

… I suck. Simply put, I suck.

Attaching my slimy being,

surreptitiously clingy,
nauseatingly smooth,
ingratiatingly insidious,

onto warm sources of sustenance.

I suck, I leech, I drain,

the elements of good-nature,

turning smiles into profitable ventures,

sucking, leeching, draining,

the beings I encounter,

suctioned cups of guilt,
of predatory precision,
surgical frigidness,
clinical intent,

sucking, leeching, draining,

till fattened,

bulging with burgeoning gains,

flush with siphoned-off goodwill,

bloated by hubris,

slipping away,

slithering into my den,

creeping on borrowed legs,

seeing with donated eyes,

cloaked in spurious fabric,

I leech, I suck.

Self-pity my only refrain,

flushing what is left of a soul,

down,

into the welcoming drain.

Love Endures

Love floats by,

reaching,
tantalising,
meandering,

tip-toeing past pain,

leaping through walls,
weakening the barricades,

of the most private heart.

Love settles in,

trusting,
searching,
dissolving,

quietly beyond anguish,

erasing the desolation,
soothing a battered spirit,
enveloping the shivering soul.

Love stays, it is true,

love endures, as do you

Beneath a Milky Moon

Then:

Desire enveloped us,
stoking fierce passions,
beneath a milky moon,

your abandoned kisses,
left me breathless,
under a starlit sky,

love silenced our nights,
a serene peace settling,
filling empty desolation,

at rest at long last,
your presence my final abode,
each caress rich with hope.

Now:

your absence is felt,
each day, every night,
throttling my dreams,

crawling inside a void,
my crumbling heart weary,
knowing you may never return,

all promises lay strewn,
like quiet wilting flowers,
brushing against my thoughts,

defeated by your love,
my tortured breathing,
is shallow, agonising, slow,

each memory a jagged ache,
knowing you left,
a thousand moons ago.

Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)

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Autumn:

the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,
you left, taking your smile and mine,

my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.

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Winter:

pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,
my tears remain frozen, within,

unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.

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Spring:

birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,
memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,

and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.

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Summer:

alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,
yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,

dancing on clouds, blissfully free,

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Monsoons:

heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,
rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,

and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,

and though I may wear the mask of the clown,

if you were to leave again,

my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown.

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scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Port of Call



Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,

soothing pained memories away,

to the swaying of a solitary palm.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,

on a quest for solace,

ever so hard to find,

yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,

as the tide cleanses all pain,

and leaves despair far, far behind.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,

that hushes the ache of bygone moons,

tasting the salty tang on my lips,

as the burnished sun,

over the distant horizon,
swoons,

and dips.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,

for a slice of solitude,

as memory bids a final adieu,

reaching under the sea so vast,

and seeking comfort in the depths,

while embracing,

the tomorrows to come,

wishing that they be true.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,

as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,

with a passion that rarely falters.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long last,

wishing the waves would wash away,

the defences that once stood,

like an impregnable wall.

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found, at long last,

my final port of call.

Why I Write

…Emptiness tightens its shackles,

imprisoning me.

Jagged shrapnel,
piercing my heart,

my emotions trickle away,

yet hope refuses to flee.

I write, to feel again.

Something, anything.

I write,

to be free.

I write to feel again.

something, anything.

I write to be.

(for Lata Sethi’s late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

…a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband

who was in exile at the time…

 
in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there…

 
the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay…

 
one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg…

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady…

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband…

a Parsi (Zoroastrian) ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned…

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag…

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon…

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband…

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local…

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile…

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees…

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably…

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa…

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name… 

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’…

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain…

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like…

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Punjabi neighbours who had become refugees themselves, as ‘Muslim’ Pakistan was created…

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based…

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes…

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi…

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi…

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi…

This was in the mid-1970’s…

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more…

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi…

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and shared anguish…

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience…

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human…

and that is why there will always be hope…

hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this…

hope…

(for Lata Sethi’s late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)