JUST LIKE THAT

A short conversation the other day with a friend, who knows me for quite a long time and regularly reads my blogs ….She always has a hundred questions to ask, its almost like an interview, a friendly interview for that matter, and I can be ‘JUST LIKE THAT’…and hence I like it.

She: Devika, you write so less these days….seldom share a real thought of yours...and the short poems that you write takes me places, but I reach no where….I loved, the latest “I shall choose…” at Certain Kind

Me: Thought, its all over for me….I don’t think these days….and I don’t write poems to take you anywhere.... (Me smiles)

She: stop this kidding....You are too lazy or you fear…

Me: I don’t disagree either way

She: And I always wanted to ask -- can’t you write those sensuous stuff..I had enjoyed some of your earlier writings...and you never published them

Me: ha! that was perhaps I myself was sensuous then...

She: No, seriously….i think a woman writer should never restrict herself….

Me: Yeah, I too think so….and as for me, I like a fine womanly sensuousness that comes in her writings….not those violent debauchery in the name of sensuousness…But well, now I can no longer place myself there….

She: May be you can refine those old writings and publish them

Me: I can -- not interested, though

She: But you love reading them?

Me: I do, especially those which come with a romantic nuance…
But now I have reached the stage in reading…where it’s the 'body of her writings' that appeals me -- NOT the 'writings of her body'....as someone said

She: You are a bit too much…sometimes

Me: I never asked you to munch me!

We ended that conversation there…..and then, it drifted to the characters of a movie we both have seen….and it went on to the next…I enjoy my time with her, as I love her. And I publish this for her, who sought anonymity for herself.

********

Photo: Portrait of Two Women, 1914; Diego Rivera:
Source: http://www.fbuch.com/cubism.htm


* I doubt if that my original thought...may be I read it somewhere....or may be its mine...

I shall choose...

I shall choose…

‘Never be foolish to grant woman her freedom,
or allow her the lenience of sharing the dais
to speak for herself and the marginalised
she should be in the margins,
be in the chains that her man carves,’ said they

‘let her be, simply be
she only seeks that harmless freedom
to love….not of the body but of the spirit-
allow her to be,’ he pleaded
I looked up to the sole voice,
the most familiar, the most compassionate,
a voice I’d listened, and chose to obey
yet so strange now, amidst the noisy crowd

‘NO, I shall live in the margins,
I choose to live in the margins...
if I be offered the freedom to choose
I choose to be in the chains they invent

from the margins I shall see
just see, the sun restore their days
and the moon transform their nights
as they redeem their lives
and their ancient amethyst dreams

my urge is only to see,
there isn’t any left to live or love
obsessed today I am of nothing
except the urge to see the life around me

grant me the kindness to live
here, in these margins, in these chains
and allow me the luxury to place myself
at the core of your heart, occasionally
to see your world, through my eyes
and to question the status quo
just for the fun of it!

to you whom I can ask,
I choose to ask only that

challenge my mind if you so wish
for it’s now grown elastic
and can stretch and bounce back
but spare my fragile heart,
that’s had many a zodiacal break!


think of it, why should you care
break it time and again...for, now I know
to fix it up...as it originally was’

**********

PS: This piece came out as a much longer one in the course of my vacation home....And the thoughts here are much older….years may be….and rewinded many times...though i never chose to write it even in my personal journal….but then, now it doesn’t seem to make a difference….Just took out stanzas from here and there…. Hope it makes some sense to you, the reader....

and by the way, my urge to live and to love is never gone beyond a moment in time...please don't ask me awkward questions! :)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.geographyofgrace.com/2006/02/the_cross_and_the_city_abandon.html

On a Nonsensical Note

On a Nonsensical Note

‘I want you to rain on me
I want you to shine on me’

remember you wrote it on
the cigarette case at the café,
the last cigarette still burning
between your fingers, and me
whiffing the uncurling smoke

for a long time I had that case
in my wallet, but in my teary
kisses in those uncertain days
the blue words turned pale
until I left it in some book

now torn and dusty may be,
I’ve never seen it in years

no, these words are not to
remind--that was our deal.
but it struck me the other day
when the doctor closed my file

does it rain in the barren lands, or
ever shine in cold, desolate fields….

but then, when you come back
to complain of the coldness in me
know, know that it was my deal
the coldness, my veil to abandon a
world that’s overbearing on me

if you still keep your warm
stay off……stay off, because
I may lose my cold
and turn haughty

and neither you nor me
will like it to be so…

**********

PS: I am just in my nonsensical stupor…A bad mood since some days, I can’t seem to get control of…this was the only way…..and I am in no mood to refine my words either….forgive me if I sound offensive.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.artinashes.com/Modern-Art-and-Funerals-information.php

Random, Yet Certain

if my affection for you is real
do I slay an other hand
whose only dream is you?

in sheer boredom
have I entered here
seeking a spark of joy
now, a fire glows in me
how do I douse it
with tears of someone
whose dreams and desires

borders my own

withered and weary
are my thoughts, today

yet, as we trace a
shared destiny in a
borderless world,
this flame of mine
shall glow in silence
and be lifted up for you
in moments of
uncertainty – so certain
and peaceful
is my affection for you,
as absolute as your vision

*********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/72852787@N00/274084103

AN OLD POEM REVISITS

AN OLD POEM REVISITS

I have made up my mind
to live, forgetting them,
who went without a good bye,
and ignoring them, who pinch me
no end with their indifference
as with their fetid words…
only the sun and moon shall
now remain in my quiescent
skies, the endless stars and clouds,
may lend their charm, when I shall
visit you at day’s end, in your
unguarded moments, and leave

when the sound of rains
batter on your roofs…

remember that

happiness is not something

I seek or trade in but,

peace shall be…

not to many have I
closed my doors before,
but now my doors shall
remain closed until the white
hands of death shall knock…
when only the wily wind
shall enter to set my body
ablaze, and it shall be
a cold November….

***********

PS: This was written about 12 years ago… And I do not know, for some reason the lines came back to me last night... I have lost the book that I wrote it, hence words have been changed here and there… may be some lines have been added too…

Photo courtesy: mymillerphotos as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/serendipitypeace/2078641763/

The Day Has Come

beneath the dormant sky
and a feral, burning sun
the city wilts,
the decrepit walls
wiped clear of all
flawed graffiti…

eyes filled
with anguish
the odious manipulators
now look within
to see their own faults,
to see that filth was within
and to see how their own
faithless factions
dupe them in all fronts
they shall now learn
to know that
the darkness in their eyes
shall not fill the fissures
and in the days light
no cracks remain
its only the
One Soul
that fills
you and me

and finally,

the day has come
when you and me shall
walk together into our
chosen destinies…and,
as the old white cross
sings its glory, freedom
shall be my gift
to you….

*********

PS: This is in a way a follow-up on:

http://devika-jyothi.blogspot.com/2008/12/day-may-come.html

Photo courtesy: Mrymerry as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mrymerry/2902814003/

The Old Man and Me

The old man telephoned me late last night. We meet in the park on most days. So, when his number shows up on the telephone I feel tensed, my breath stops for a while. He is 75 plus and his wife left him and world with no children. He terribly needs some one…at times just to talk to, at times to get some thing or to pay a bill or for some such errands. He says he feels so free to ask me anything; and yes, I love when people are so.

But a telephone ring at odd times sends unwarranted vibrations in me… And I was trying hard to sound normal, myself …But he seemed all too well and went on straight to ask:

‘Why don’t you write these days, young girl?’

He is one who calls me young girl…and I would argue if a ‘girl’ could be born ‘old’, knowing it could be. Arguing with men above 70, and girls below 17, is a time pass I love…I find only them wise enough to argue with ;-)

‘I do write…who said I’m not doing, dada?’

He is called dada (meant paternal grandfather, but used a.k.a. hero often) not just by me, but by all in the locality.

‘I was checking your blogs. They seem almost dead.’

‘Yeah, there I am almost dead….I don’t feel like blogging my life…and thoughts.’

But why?’ his voice rose and then broke. ‘I used to tell everyone I know…..that they should read Devika Jyothi’s blogs…..Now, they ask me….’

‘But, dada..i don’t feel…I am fed up with some friends!’

‘What happened baba?’

I knew the old man wasn’t going to leave me. ‘Dada...eehhh…what do I say…how do I say…a friend, an old colleague now comes ‘claiming’ that I am writing about him…and that he was happy to start a relation!’

‘That’s wonderful,’ he burst out laughing.....and then said soberly: ‘No, baba..I know, it’s difficult for women….but a writer has to take it all.’

‘I CAN’T…that’s why I don’t feel like writing,’ I am incorrigibly stubborn sometimes.

‘No, no….You have to…You can’t stop writing for flimsy reasons,’ he seemed all the more.

‘Flimsy, you said?? – I can’t sleep when they say that.’

‘What does Suresh say?’

‘He is cool….he would never understand the seriousness.’

‘Okay…the best way is to face it…call that person and ask him to come and meet you…I will come with you…we will tackle him…I will sort it out for you,’ he seemed decided.

‘At 75 you got strength to ‘tackle?’ I love poking, just for the fun of it.

‘Young girl, why do you always make me feel too old…I feel I am so young when I talk with you…and out of the blue you give bolts!!’ his voice thinned suddenly, making me sad.

But, soon he resumed: ‘So that issue is solved…the next time he calls, ask him to come..okay? ‘Now start writing your blogs..I want to read.’

‘Okay dada..I will…and this will be the next post.’

‘This?’

‘Yeah our conversation….Let everybody know that I have someone who really cares.’

‘Good idea, my girl’

‘So, good night, dada…I will put it up some time soon, and then possibly blog on all weekends as before.’

‘Good girl…and good night, silly one,’ I thought he was ending, then suddenly he started again:

‘Baba, but I too was a bit curious….tell me…who is the ‘you’ in your poems??’

‘You too Dada!.......the ‘you’ is YOU…Go and Sleep, will you!??’

I could still hear his laughter after he disconnected the phone. And I was left to wonder, why the world should worry who a writer/poet is writing about.

Does it matter which tree in the forest makes someone write about wood cutters?
Does it matter which river makes someone write about the need to restore water streams on earth?
Does it matter which man/woman makes a poet glorify love in his/her poems?

….I never thought it mattered.