Here comes the Sun,
slinking out the clouds
Godfather of this earth
light casting off its shroud,
Casting the shroud
off those whose moods
set with its setting and rise with its floods,
Or those whose first 'art'
by the slumber and wake of this gentle giant of fire,
Whose fury, unforgiving,
can just as quickly destroy
as its benevolence creates
all life and joy.
Here comes the Rain,
dripping off unseen shores
Angel tears, heaven faucets—
A being of sound and smell
unlike Sun, its antithesis (?)
But like it can nurture or make all perish;
Such beauty, such poise, this lady's voice
Her mere presence plays with hearts
touching unseen strings in gentle harps,
Mother of poetry and storms
the ocean's first-born.
Here come the Stars,
oft overlooked for the moon
Long dead, still twinkling
in the sky's black cocoon
Dagger wounds in dark dresses
holding firmly in their embrace
you, and the secrets that dwell behind that face,
For the stars were how we first learned of poetry
Diamonds in the sky,
corpses burning for eternity.
4th April/ (3/30)/ Childish rhyming verse
Featured image: CD painted by my sister
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
So they chatter and dance and have fun
Somebody I don't know offers me a sweet
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
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
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
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.
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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.
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