Silent Night, Holi Night

Holi eve night
I can't see any stars in the black canopy of the sky
But she's there, beautiful, reduced to a centrepiece
For strangers to worship and attach stories to
Who look at her, but don't see— they love themselves
Too much
So they chatter and dance and have fun
Somebody I don't know offers me a sweet
I decline;
My senses are absorbed, 
For even though the sky is dark
She's there, scattering stars of sunset shimmering
Out for the night to inhale.

A girl films her swaying in slow motion to her own rhythm
Oblivious to the loud folk music on the community speakers
I have not brought my camera.
The girl's phone whites out her beauty
Turns her blossoming tongues of magma
Into featureless dazzling white
This is why I did not bring my camera.

But I have brought my heart.

So even though I know that all the metaphors
About her mercurial magnificence
That flood my brain like her anbaric rivulets,
All the poems I could write
That will white out her beauty
Have already been written;
I let my words flow and engulf this page
Like her flames do the wood
I let my words flow because I love the fire.

I love the fire so I come closer,
Even though I can feel her warmth from afar I
Can't help but come closer;
My skin cries tears of sweat
My brain yells at me to step back—
But all I can do is bask in the warmth she radiates
Let my pupils dilate with her heat
And my blood fill with the divinity of Prometheus's stolen treasure.

She is a slice of the Sun on the Earth
And a soothing sliver of the moon
Expectorating fireflies;
All I can do is marvel at her supernova core
All I can do is look, and yet.

I look at her and I want to burn in her,
Dive into her heart and burn
I'll just be another log, some more kindling
That makes her hiss and sizzle and crackle in glee
But I want to feel her sear my bones from within
Like she's seared my heart from without.

Now the stick pyramid falls but she burns on
For she never needed that structure to exist—
She's a force of nature, hair flying wild
And as the wood falls I want to fall too
Fall to my knees in front of her, eyes closed
And evaporate;
Be the Icarus in her tranquil orange lustre
That beautifies the ugliest with her summertime incandescence
And fills this empty pitcher with ichor
That overflows and splashes these pages
With the fiery passion inside. 

1st April/ (1/30) / Free verse

They hate the rain in London

They hate the rain in London

Because it means dark, gloomy days

No sunshine, football, or picnics

And house arrest in stuffy, humid rooms.

Close your eyes and write a poem

Close your eyes and write a poem,

Because sights are beautiful

But god,

Look at the sounds.

Kaleidoscopic (haiku)

Rustling leaves filter

Kaleidoscopic sunlight

Emerald gilded

दीपक की आत्मकथा (Autobiography of an oil lamp)

मैं धरती- पूत, अग्नि-पूत

अग्नि का ही निवास हूँ,

मुझे अम्बर से क्या?

अपने छोटे- से संसार का

उजाला बनकर संतुष्ट हूँ मैं ।

The nameless yellow-flowered tree

When Summer combs her golden locks

And lets a strand fall,

It reaches the earth and seeds

The nameless yellow-flowered tree.

Nox

What is darkness?

The absence of light, they say.

But it is not darkness which is the absence of light

It is light which is the absence of darkness.

Eyes of God

Hey guys! Yes, I’m still here- I haven’t abandoned my blog if that’s what you were thinking. Then why has it been almost a month since I wrote, you ask? I’d love to say I was chilling off to let my brain relax and reboot so that it could come up with more awesome ideas to write about. That I’d taken a ‘Writing Vacation’, if you will, to help my writing. Truth is, writing wasn’t even on my mind. I last blogged on November 7 (TTW part 11) and let me tell you what happened after that. I’d love to tell the whole story in detail, but then you’ll probably get bored. So here’s a short version- from 8-12 November I was at my naani’s (maternal grandma’s) place because my maama (maternal uncle) was getting married. For non-Indians, Indian weddings aren’t a simple one-day affair- no sir, you aren’t husband and wife until a lot of rituals have been completed. From 12-22 November, I was down with dengue. From 24 Nov- 1 Dec, I had my post-midterm exams. And today you have it- the day I blog on- Sunday.

Ink and Sand

With half-closed eyes the sun

Watches the heavenly ink

Spill out of its pot

As if God, like a frustrated poet

Had pushed his inkpot off his writing-desk.

Dance of the waves

Yeah, I know I didn’t blog on Blog-day Sunday but calm down, I returned from my trip today and I honestly didn’t have even a spare minute yesterday. So without any further delay, let me introduce you to my latest poem, inspired by the waves at the rendezvous of two seas and an ocean at Kanyakumari, the bottom-most point of the Indian mainland. The said seas are the Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea and the aforementioned ocean is the Indian Ocean. It’s a beautiful place which merits a visit. Don’t miss the Vivekananda Memorial if you ever happen to travel there. And yes, the image featured with this post was clicked by me at Kanyakumari.