A Certain Kind of Woman

Break

2012-01-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

I will be gone for a while, possibly a long while, again. - some projects, besides my regular work; a vacation in March; some family needs etc, etc…Short poems or verse, whatever happens will be posted at Abstract Deductions blog, whenever it happens.

My other blogs will mostly be off this year, Possibly I will close down two & keep just two. Time long due for a revamp...But that will be later.

Anyway, thank you for reading,

& Happy Blogging, will always be looking forward to read,

regards,

devika

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.wallpapersland.net/2011/03/20/lake-at-dusk/

Life - happiness from suffering or vice versa?

2012-01-23T22:23:00.000-08:00

I look at the opal moon,

again, as if for the first time

after many years,

many moons, many breaths

many deaths,

as the eight year old

who stood in quiet wonder

of the source of its white light

unawares. no more a wonder,

but still in awe: the silver splendour

in a sapphire sea

calm and quiet,

so detached from the sky and earth

and the assembly of stars,

watching upon the world

lost in a world of itself

I see them too

the wayfarers, returning home

their lives returning

from the pain, the suffering

of living – to loving, happiness

and of death, I too have forgotten
for a time, for a moment

as moonlight presses upon the dark

range of trees lining the city’s sky-

the life, the love that breathes within,

without

Again, it all began with the ideas of love, life and Buddhist thought: ‘The essence of life is suffering,’ and the root delusions: attachment, anger and ignorance. Perhaps, the sky that night was lit by the moon and stars… it went that way, though it was with my mother that I was talking. She is very devout, very perceptive, a very ardent lover of life, and a fine connoisseur of literature and poetry…and more taken to religious texts now . So our talks often border these areas and it would go on and on and on….and on. Not really. It stops when we have had enough.

For the love of quotes and the way thinkers weave their thoughts in words: & especially for the inherent contrast in ideas of love, life, suffering and happiness, I love this one by Woody Allen:

~ ‘To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.’

live and let live
love and let love be ~
a way to live,
a way to happiness,
suffering from it even

On a different note, from the Buddhist perspective: isn’t it strange that man is drawn to the sufferings of cyclic existence, when actually he must be striving to free himself from that? Or is it the perceived pleasure in that suffering, as W. Allen said?

Funny are the ways of the world!?

All said and done…to think that one may have to leave this world once forever. Saddening. But then, ‘Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.’ Norman Cousins said that. He must have been my cousin in some life - for, I hold the same belief.

Photo courtesy: Dennis from Atlanta, Dennis Matheson

as per original copyright at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dennis_matheson/3270263570/

Cooking Poetry On a Cold Morning

2012-01-17T21:10:00.000-08:00

in poetry

as in cooking soup

cook in soothing slow-fire
simulate the flame

to seethe through

the contents

strew the words

with intervals of

s i l e n c e,

the salt of the matter

strewn with pepper

check the rhythm
the viscosity of flow

sense the taste

to be good on the nostrils

before the tongue

taken in like

hot soup

on a cold winter morning

in one gulp,

to let it digest

within

'Poetry is the only art people haven't yet learnt to consume like soup.’ W.H. Auden

PS: Sure, very sure, I need to work on this....as I need to work on poetry. Cooking soup seems easier...and consuming poetry! :)

As to writing, my present state of mind is as what George Bernard Shaw said, when he was tasked by his biographer with writing plays without genius:

'I do not waste my time writing pot-boilers: the pot must be boiled, and even my pot au feu has some chunks of fresh meat in it. ...I have no time to boil myself down; and anyhow I could not do so and preserve all the necessary nutriment and the flavoring on which the digestibility depends.'

A little too much to equate with GB Shaw's words?....Yeah;Yes, but what else to say when that's how one feels! :)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.adm.heacademy.ac.uk/networks/networks-summer-2011/features/2018what2019s-the-environment-got-to-do-with-media-studies-2019-exploring-the-possibilities-and-challenges-for-curriculum-development-in-higher-education

Loka Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu

2012-01-14T04:57:00.000-08:00

ask me not grand questions

on the purpose and meaning of life

and existence, I do not know,

not a thing more than you,

seeking the essential facts of life

to the thick woods I have been

and the seas and deserts

spanning horizons; wisdom

of the recluses sought:

know the happiness of being-

as I am just happy to be here

on earth, in the humdrum of being

breathing, just breathing

in the glory of all creation

freeing myself from the mundane

burden of existence

breathe, breathe, seek nothing

or seek as much you wish

but return to

the happiness of just being-

live, love, laugh

in time

pass away

proffering a wish,
always and ever:

‘Loka Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu’

'Loka Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu' ~ the Swasthi Vachanam which translates as: ‘May happiness be unto the world’

Me in a Yogic mood?

Not exactly, this is a modified response to a query by one of my students as to what I think is ‘the essential fact of life’….Guess what – it was a class that discussed scientific advancements by man.

With children…that’s it…You just never know from where to where it goes…

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://wallpaperstock.net/through-the-trees-wallpapers_w6763.html

A Morning Miscellany

2012-01-08T03:36:00.000-08:00

The morning air is clear, and that is to say, it isn’t a foggy winter day. It is early January and it is winter. But it isn’t foggy. The night rains and thunder storms have cleared the air. From my window I can see, the park is alive - full of busy squirrels, running up, down and around the trees, swiftly changing directions, at times stopping mid-way as if sensing the air, or solving a mystery. The flower beds seem a mosaic of colours – yellow, violet, pink, cream, orange, mauve, pink, maroon all rimmed with green. Yes, you get that right – The January morning looks somewhat like spring as the sun rays gain warmth with the passing moments, though the sky and earth is still full of rain. Birds…not many in sight, except a few eagles and falcons, the protectors and illuminators of the spirit, the symbols of balance and power, carrying prayers, wisdom and the knowledge of magic in their wings.

I open the regular news pages; skip through the national, international, political, apolitical, sports and all other news. Enough. News, gossips and philosophies are all the same on a laid-back weekend morning. The weather report says the sky is expected to be clear through the day, though it might turn cloudy and rain or drizzle in the night. And that's news! I love clouds anyway - that which is ever changing in the unchanging. That which life represents.

But, the horoscope for the year says: ‘Take care of your head. In all senses-’. So it isn’t about heart this time around; it’s about the head. I read it out loud once again. From within the blanket on the divan, a mocking snort! No worries, the leonine who resides there often finds my small fish brain more a matter of amusement.* But for me the piece of advice is something that seemed to need a certain consideration. For the reason, it asks me to take care of that part which is supposed to be taking care of all other things! So, how do I do that? A conundrum of sorts - Cross the bridge when you come to it, comes the order. Yes, sounds fine, sounds fair.

For now, I pull the red silk scarf over my years—shucks! ears– and listen to the voices inside. Nothing, absolutely nothing! Knock it and it would sound like a Ghatam**…But that’s from the record player. I flip the horoscope too into the bin:

listen to....silence & hollowness creating music, pure music...

*Suresh is Leo, and I am a Piscean - so you know.
** Ghatam - Indian musical pot. listen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfSe99SUopg

Photo courtesy: William Turner - Rain, Steam and Speed – 1844 as per original copyright at:
http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/romanticism/arthistory_romanticism.html

January 7, 2012

Self, a Universe- an Image-Nation

2011-12-28T20:54:00.000-08:00

memory is a collage of fragmented images

of people and places within the recesses

of the mind, not a treasure-chest of things,

things could be a burden

along the way we shift places

for a life and livelihood

the memory box of things

become too weighty

to carry, like the houses themselves

and the trees surrounding them

the old trunks and trinkets

of the yesteryears are left behind,

to rust in the dark corners,

or join the earth before us

or for somebody else,

to pick up to make their own memories,

(as we once picked them from somewhere)

we become part of their memories

as we move on with images of memories,

and images of our dreams

until somebody else, somewhere

along the way brush off the rust

and dust from their memories, and
their dreams to make art and artefacts

displaying them, or spill them

over in a conversation

then, an image fading in memory

becomes a treasure

and all things left behind,

and the people who took them over,

known and unknown,

become a part of us, contained within

our pain, and our joy

the Self, then an image-nation

an expanding universe

of all things

known, unknown

The ‘Self’ and its workings is as much interesting as the Universe-Yeah the microcosm and the macrocosm….What’s amazing is its expandability - is the nature and scope of Universe, or the Self, fully known, or realised? Then why does mind return to its narrowness – my; me and mine; you, you and yours, my family, your family, their family – May be that has been the social/societal dynamics we are used to, and the reality of it all remains…But can’t the Self remain in that expanded state, even as individuals pursue their individual dreams? Individual dreams are non-negotiable, and it has to be so…but if the world were rid of this narrow-mindedness…

Why does mind choose to become a speck, when it has the potential of being a Universe…well, just a thought, as the year ends…May be a reflection of what I have been reading & 2011 has been a bit too weighty...Anyway,

Wish you all a Happy New Year! :)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.seopher.com/articles/the_internet_is_just_like_the_universe

Where there is love,

2011-12-25T23:41:00.000-08:00

‘Where there is love there is life.’ ~ Mahatma Gandhi

through the evening fog

I see her, at the far-end of the park

a little girl, another pale flower

standing by the winter flower-bed

her fingers soft, delicate

caressing the flowers –

her little hands,

I imagine, tender and red,

as I rub my time-worn hands together

to ward off the December chill

her name I know not - I call her Hope

one more look and she’s gone

leaving a pallid sky

aglow -

for another day

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.floralencounters.com/Seeds/seed_detail.jsp?productid=87974

On Offence, Defence & The Art of Fencing

2011-12-12T21:25:00.000-08:00

A Long Post...!

A 'long' short-story and a few versions of it....those of you who feel bored already, may leave immediately.

In fact I am somewhat bored myself!
So, leaving.
See you later, with the story or something else...
To those of you blinking at the title ~ even I am not sure where it came from ~ but has something to do with the story or play as it may turn up!?

On a serious note, It is almost over 10 years that I tried writing a short story...I am kind of developing an interest for stories and plays. May be I'll do or may be not.

Whatever that is and is not...
Happy Blogging! or whatever it is that you are doing...

For now, Christmas is in the air and in the mind....so, Seasons Greetings and Merry Christmas to you all! :)

best wishes,
devika

When the Mind Speaks

2011-12-11T19:34:00.000-08:00

I. When the Mind Speaks like a Prophet

when the mind speaks like a prophet

let it, for it comes

from the hearth of experience

if love, compassion and peace be outcast,

for lust, greed and violence to take root

there may be a price to pay

may be you, or maybe me

does it make a difference?

to remember Truth is not in the eyes

of the man or the woman,

you may chose to share a lifetime with

or your children, or parents, or friends

or of the stranger, in trepidation

Truth is that which comes to you

in the most lone-some moments-

you have come alone and would

go back alone

yet, only a conscious love, a forgiving

compassion can redeem your life, and

another’s - there’s space for all

on this planet and beyond...

be not the element that spreads violence

and hate, rather be it love and peace,

laugh at me, if you may

but there may come a day,
you may sit and think.

and I shall not laugh at you,
for I have been there

not once, not twice…I have lost count!

II. A plea to the God of Inner Wars

one fine morning, oblivious as I were

I set myself on a road. As in a dream

not knowing there lay a road ahead

an abundance lay before me,
and no path

with every onward step,

the path had cleared

and on that path I came to know

love

on that path I came to know

joy

on that path I came to know

peace

on that path I came to know

sin

on that path I came to know

anger

on that path I came to know

sorrow

difficult was the path, as it is

I embrace the side of love and peace,

joy keeps me company at its own will

sin, anger and sorrows

have lost their way, yet arrive off guard

deal with them , the god of inner wars

when the little demons come your way

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.123rf.com/photo_4911457_evening-sea-sandy-shore-with-sunlight-path.html

Things I don't Under-stand

2011-12-06T20:49:00.000-08:00

not unlike the human mind

weary of this spin

Mother Earth, aren’t you?

yet, stay still can you?

minds change, seasons change,

skies change within and without
flowers bloom and fall

in their evanescent dreams
of spreading happiness and cheer

but can the sun, moon

and the infinite stars

be snuffed out

by the breath of wind

or of changing seasons

or by the oppressive breath
of a tyrant,

you, or me?

Poor me! Poor me!

such ignorance and fear they spread,

splitting themselves

and then to wrap themselves

in it…pity, such a pity!

goodness me!
those are things

I don’t under-stand.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.wallz.eu/color/CC9900/498

Harmony

2011-11-29T19:28:00.000-08:00

this morning’s rosebush,

shivering in the cold

holding the tattered roses

of yesterdays, the blazing blossoms

of the day

and the radiant buds of the morrows –

in its silent screams

pain, hope, misery and happiness

coexists in harmony

dew drops have rained on all

and the lawn too

the morning’s newspapers

too, cold in black and white

say almost the same stories,

in notes discordant

the sun, ancient and blasé

as if oblivious to it all

somewhere,

only this hazy light

and everything passing by

Photo: Rosebush in blossom, Oil Painting by Vincent Van Gogh

courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://a1reproductions.com/rosebush-in-blossom-by-vincent-van-gogh-oil-painting.html

The Sojourners

2011-11-16T20:46:00.000-08:00

three long hours

like three decades

the blue bird sat near me,

after Chausarya’s flute

ended a mystical note touching the
tip of a heaven unforeseen,

when the sky peeled its grey

through and through

I’ve been waiting for it

to break the silence,

to flip the layers of woes

captured on its flight

buried in the quiet

of its liquid eyes

it didn’t,

flicked it tail twice

and looked further

into my eyes, spearing

as if wanting more

crooning in a tone, so soft

that it could only hear

sucked my grief, all of it out

as if emptying my grief

to fill with its songs, so plaintive

it did,

set itself on flight

the steel of its looks

still piercing through

the iris of my eyes

little bird,

what of all the world’s grief

you see, little bird

where do you tuck them,
when the sky’s grey
peels itself to blue

when the dream of flight
takes over another time

your wing-beats make me dream

PS: The bird is the Indian blue robin.

Photo courtesy: Jnarin (Niranj Vaidyanathan): as per original copyright at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jnarin/5793100391/

just simple types*

2011-11-10T19:41:00.000-08:00

between fairy-tales

witchcraft, war and ghost stories

new and full moon phases

Britannica, wild-life

classics, cookbooks,

books of poetry

we divide the monotony

of life, and test our own patience

with the pen-knife

within me, I wait

until the sky clears

to mix and match colours

and splash my

fantasy paintbrush

across a sombre

November sky again,

dip a glass of wine

from the dark-sea

within, sink in the bitter-

sweet memories,

of a long past No-v-ember,

certain, that it won't return

weary of remembering it

still, I admit to myself

it is a nice place to be

like here and now

*yes, it just simply typed itself out – without my intervention, except for the choice of a word or two.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.keralagreenery.org/beaches.html

The Path

2011-11-08T19:33:00.000-08:00

sweetened deeds of parentage,
where every cry is heard, every need
is met, every other word
is a promise, take us only thus far

where we fail to see a fallen blossom

a broken blade of grass, a silent bird,

then, the path lies
ahead long and winding

where you aren’t alone,

but in the company of many,
stumbling on the rocks
of imagination, with time enough

to listen to the pulse in the vein

connecting the sky and earth,
where we came from, why we came
to where we go, walking on
the only thing to do

embracing the path

happens somewhere in between

believe the path to lead you there,

and the path won’t let you go
many have walked the way before

and many are yet to come

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Sunset_at_Varkala_Beach_Kerala_India.jpg

Of Cats, Dogs & a Muse gone wild

2011-11-06T20:04:00.000-08:00

no, it isn’t the old

dog eat dog

mad world, they say

it’s now more a cat and dog world,

with all its godly allusions,

and to use the old cliché

it isn’t rocket science

to know cats and dogs aren’t friends

sure, as to any rule of Nature

there could be exception(s)

to the rule.

in doubt

throw a cat

on to the face of a dog

any cat on to any dog

but who is who, what
is what, and
which is which

ought to be clear-

figuratively

there are cats among dogs

and dogs among cats,

and they could turn out be friends,

and we could talk of miracles.

my little knowledge

comes from

'my experiments with truth’

in my childhood-

catching a cat by the tail

rolling newspaper balls for cats

to play included

and of dogs –I never

went that near except throwing

a cat on to the dog

one fine morning,

and then being chased

by a dog round
the old banyan tree

near our home

one not-so-fine evening

until a man of some god

who sat under the tree

raised me in his arms

Everything about this and all the characters are real: While the story is real, I have no idea as to what came upon the muse to bring it on now.

the world – it is the same world that you are in. But the instances took place in my home-town in Kerala, near my home, around 32-33 years ago.

Me -- a girl of 10/11 years with all the wild and domesticated shades of cat(s)/kitten(s) and dog(s) in me.

the real cat- no name, but a wild one, who used to sit on our wall most of the days…and who duly gave birth to many kittens, a few of which were used as specimens for our experiments – Unlike the children of today, we were not very educated on ‘cruelty to animals’ clause, except elders saying: not to harm them and to be careful while playing with them; but none of that went into our heads, especially when the urge to experiment took over. These days I see children talking of ‘cruelty to animals’ and human rights at par – humanity isn’t going that bad...

the dogs: two, who were my neighbours’ pets - Mahiyan and Chippu; the one on to whom we threw the cats and the one who chased me.

the Banyan tree with an inbuilt small temple - the locale and my room with the view of huge banyan tree, the temple, the near-by temple-pond and the far away stream, where people took their bath– it’s more or less a similar setting as described by Ravindranath Tagore in his childhood memoirs…most things about the locality, the landscape and the people there have changed now - but more on that later, in some other writing.

man of some god – the temple priest, who himself is one character of sorts who could give me substance for writing a few stories, if I happen to. In the least he would appear in guest roles in some of them. His real name is not known to me. ‘21 Appu’ was his nick-name- the story behind being that he had the blessings and revelations of 21 deities - no idea as to who they are, except one being the deity of that temple. He never revealed to us his revelations, saying that was against his accord with the deities.

To talk of miracles – we could talk of some miracles as a few kittens and Mahiyan became friends. Chippu was wild, so was the mother cat and some kittens, and we used to have some exciting time seeing their fight.

Lastly, An apology to Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi for using the name of his book in the context of finding the trivial truth behind natural instincts of cats and dogs.

Needless to say, this could have been written in a much better form as a memoir. But sadly I don't seem to have time now, for any creative pursuit. So before I lose such memories to time and memory loss, rather jot it down, so that's what it is.

More such stories to come? - Possible, but not sure when.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.realbollywood.com/2010/08/cats-dogs-2-review.html

The 'fall' - A Letter to Sister Ruth*

2011-11-01T20:13:00.000-07:00

O’ dear Sister,

tell us

how can one not

fall

when things such as these happen-

I was in search of my supplementary self

he was in search of his complementary self

when our eyes met,

the selves struck a chord

and a smile marked

the shortest distance between us

a whole universe rose

and

we fell!

(addendum:

we girls rise only

when our universe falls!)

Well, it is a bit of fun – a memory from high school years, when one of my friends had to give an explanation as to how she had fallen in love with a boy in the nearby school. According to the Convent rules, ‘such things’ should not happen- Fallings and failings of any kind invariably called for ‘explanations’!

And in the words of Sister Ruth*, girls should be ‘tough enough’ to discard such ‘distractions,’ focus on studies, rise in life, create her own world which she would love to live in, and then think of finding a partner to share the life-- No ‘frailties’ anytime before!..Yes, sounds like Anais Nin’s, ‘How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.’

Well, Sister Ruth* was right in her own way, though some of us didn’t agree too much with her at that time…Now, I often sound like her to the young girls around me…well, the tunes we get to play as Time, the Master Conductor, composes the grand symphony called life.

As regards the girl, the nuns were too strict about it all, the matter turned serious and finally her parents were summoned and she was warned to keep off. I do not know the happenings after we left school, but came to know later that the two got married finally. And there were a few other stories, explanations and warnings, where it didn’t end too well…but no one stopped falling in love nor could anyone stop, so to say! Consequences and endings –well, that’s another story…stories.

And, because of the ‘call for explanation’, in those days, in our circle we had many explanations in circulation as to how ‘ it’ happens. How could one not fall (in love) when such things happen was our question to the Sisters – but no one dared to ask them!

Written and posted as requested by two of my old students - Sakshi and Neha, who wanted girly stuff.

As I was writing, I was thinking of how writing and reliving good memories is so vitally different from writing and relieving oneself of the stress of tough phases in life. I guess ‘Letter to Sister Ruth’ mostly brings the child/teenager in me –happy ‘she’ is still alive…despite me feeling a 444 year old at times!.....though the verse is kind of non-sense, writing it gave a fresh feeling... Should be doing it more.

By the way, some of my readers here known personally to me said they like to read the PS more than the post itself…at one point in time, I wanted to get rid of the PS, but if someone loves reading the background, fine then…

And yes, some said, they loved reading whatever I’ve written here – trash or otherwise. okay, then…

*Name has been changed, if some ‘Sister Ruth’ shares the same idea as here, it is only coincidence.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.123rf.com/photo_1319379_deep-red-heart-shaped-morning-glory-leaf-with-stylized-grunge-wave-reflection-and-drop-of-falling-bl.html

Happy Diwali!

2011-10-22T21:16:00.000-07:00

evening songs

between the breaths

hearts of light

‘Let there be light’ ~ Happy Diwali to you all!

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://craftsfromindia.gyanin.com/2010/07/08/clay-terracotta-craft-india/earthen-diyaslamps-lit-during-diwali/

river of life

2011-10-18T21:11:00.000-07:00

the river of life is dark,

to see what comes next

is not a possibility

(if it is, just tell me
where my mind would go,

and what it would think

in the next moment, because

the ability to think and act

is what I call human life, mostly.

to say the truth, I do not know

where it goes next –
not to speak of the unknowns,
in the larger scheme)

and to jump in the same river twice

too is not a possibility

neither the river nor you

are the same after the first

nor is drowning a possibility

in the river of life

you float to the surface

dead or alive

often more alive than dead,
or you got to be drowning
in the real rivers with rocks

in your pockets

while that is about jumping,

falling could be another story/

stories.

ps: again a thought that surfaced from some reading. And reminded of Virginia Woolf who drowned herself in the River Ouse, by putting rocks in her coat pockets, and may be a few others who have jumped or fallen in the real rivers, in the course of the flowing river of life - the many stories that remain in us to be told.

If I should be waiting to write something worthy, neatly and beautifully– I will be waiting with no end in sight….and thoughts just slip away- into oblivion. This definitely has many more aspects to think of, and that needs time. And about a preachy tone to it-not something I like; perhaps it's the muse, my Ambrosia, the one who comes and goes at her will, speaking for the first time. At this point, I really have no much time available for the refining or fine-tuning of words and verse. I hope to get some time for my own writing(s) in this life itself…more than this fast first drafts...because, afterlife is not something I dream of.

So let it all be here, for now. If somebody finds any correction/editing needed, please feel free to do as you read....or if found to be trash-worthy; just trash it! :)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.prokerala.com/downloads/wallpapers/kerala-river-bank-7.html

Over a cup of zen tea

2011-10-15T22:38:00.000-07:00

into the future

if your past doesn’t walk with you

it wasn’t yours ever, leave it

and walk freely, without regret

without its burden

if it was yours, it will walk with you

within and without

but feel your mind leaving it in its place

freeing itself to walk freely

without regret

without its burden,

such is the way

of zen minds

who walk alone,
through the crowd of life,
and find company with teapots

Inspiration: Of course, life, the art, and quotes as below....and a cup of tea:

~’Strange how a teapot Can represent at the same time The comforts of solitude And the pleasures of company’~ Anonymous

~ Tea is drunk to forget the din of the world.’~ T'ien Yiheng

~ ‘Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage.~ Catherine Douzel

Photo: Henri Le Secq, Teapot, cup and saucer ca 1855 painting.

courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://popartmachine.com/item/pop_art/GEH-GEH_.H198114810011/HENRI-LE-SECQ-TEAPOT,-CUP-AND-SAUCER-CA-1855

an appeal

2011-10-04T21:22:00.000-07:00

O’ Garden of five Senses

as evening falls through the pale sky

be kind, Oh! be kind

O' city of transitory pleasures

lend us your lights

to tide over the ocean of foreboding nights,

until daylight brings those faces,

and smiles of friends,

pledging the bounty

and beauty of life

of love, everlasting

********

PS: An old one…in those first days, when I landed in New Delhi on a job transfer from my hometown, Trivandrum. A two–three year project....Never imagined I would settle and live this long here…Needless to say, if not for friends, I wouldn’t have survived here…into the 15^th year this November, and 13 years of marriage- reasons that hold back have grown....Looking back, not a bad experience in toto…

ha! Churning trash again?

I found the verse within a book - Vivekananda’s ‘I am a Voice without a Form’ - Yeah, besides friends, books too were/are a source of inspiration and comfort. Goes without saying.

Now, let it be here….in remembrance of the carnival called life.

Oh, yes..the first line has been freshly added to the verse, 'Garden of Five Senses' was not there in 1998 September, when i wrote it. It was opened in 2003 or 2004 and I have not gone there, yet...

Photo: Garden of five Senses, Delhi

Courtesy: Kprateek88: as per original copyright at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Example_of_night_photography_at_The_Garden_of_Five_Senses,_New_Delhi.JPG

Another note:

2011-09-18T23:35:00.000-07:00

Seemingly my break is taking longer….

Besides, I feel I am quite a bit tired of churning out trash here, too… Yes, sometime before I had gone back to see some of the past posts – and most were like trash churned on a spur of the moment…and dumped here.

Anyway, letting that be, I feel I should go back to where and why I started the blog and start again – write only what is needed to be written…and perhaps focus a little more on quality, if at all possible, and/or at least to the extent possible by me.

And that rework within me would definitely take time…possibly weeks/months/years. But I think I need to allow myself that however long or short it will take, though I am still not sure what the result would be…

Meanwhile, I shall be posting short poems at Abstract Deductions…as and when it happens.

Also, though I would like to comment at all places that I read (of course, whether it is advisable or even acceptable at all to do so is another matter, about which I have my own reservations coming from my experience), the more and more one reads, there is little to comment, but more to appreciate and learn how a poet/artist perceives the moment and translates it into words/art, and as well as on the poetics of poetry, both in blogs and books. Yes, poetry and art continue to be my addiction, amongst all my interests and that doesn’t seem to go away...

So, as I turn myself to the reading/learning experience all over again, I prefer to be a silent reader – Not that my marking a comment or not should make any difference, not the least to the masters whom I follow, but just letting know why I am not present in comments of other blogs as I used to be.

That said,

let the stream of poetry continue to flow...unhindered...

may the muse(s) keep you inspired…for life!

Best wishes and happy blogging,

devika

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.freefoto.com/preview/15-24-2/Stream-of-running-water

Intermission

2011-09-11T07:40:00.000-07:00

The blogger issues seem to have sorted out, I haven’t checked the commenting issues though.

But, due to certain family emergencies, I may not be active in blogs for some time to come. Hope to join back once I’m through.

Best wishes and Happy blogging

devika

Reunion

2011-09-02T22:50:00.000-07:00

it was the merry-go- round

that caught them young

and taught life was a fantasy,

fun-ride round the carousel.

faster and faster they went

until one flew off at a tangent

straight

to make a life of its own

then one by one they went

on the path of self-made life

now in the different walks

of life they meet at random

look back at those times

‘oh those were the times!’

they crack-up, stretch, straighten and sigh

and continue the course of life

to where it leads...
in hope of another reunion

My batch-mates at College of Engineering, Trivandrum (1986-90) had a reunion recently (August 13 & 14) celebrating 25 years of Togetherness – we do it in not-so-grand scale occasionally. Residing far away, and at times due to other commitments, I have missed some of them, including this. Then I came to know my schoolmates too had a get-together…and my other college mates at Mar Ivanios, Law Academy, most of whom I have not met ever since, except the ones who were at Engineering College or were neighbours, or have met accidentally, somewhere, sometime , along the course of life--

Anyway, most of August went in reminiscing the days from merry-go-round school days to college (s) trying to remember faces and names, though I am not too good with it. But incidences and instances stay more clearly…and to think of meeting them all…someday.

On a side note - why do people abandon the blogs, which they start with so much passion? - a thought that i'm always affected by...Well, two of my own blogs remain idle most of the time, not that I have any good reason...

Is there a chance of 'reunion' in the blogworld? To see all the blogs & bloggers who were once active to be back in force. Well, one can always wish?

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://sharingcard.info/sharing-card/cccam-server-parabole-reunion.html

Being Spiritual, on a Sunday

2011-08-28T21:52:00.000-07:00

I. Let the Silence Be

strange, very strange
all of a sudden we find ourselves
in the zone of perfect understanding
having come a long way from where we were
yet, I can’t claim to know you.
or your neighbour
or your friend, or your enemy

I needn’t know anymore.
this silence is of perfect understanding

there’s so much to speak
but words have suddenly become strangers
and I fear, yes I fear, my words could hurt
some passer-by, or his/her unknown
neighbour, friend, or enemy

let this perfect understanding be
let this silence be

II. Lost & Found

I was lost and found
here, there and everywhere
wherever my mind could reach
between the pages of books, in newspapers,
in the nook and corner of streets,
if not as me, in some other person
and within the walls of my home.

words continued to burn
in my heart through the day
and in the dark of certain nights
when sleep abandoned
word of man, I’d thought and ignored,
for tears had dried out to douse the burning
until the day dawned with the realisation
it could be the word of God
for in the early twilight dream,
clear in the flame was my heart
held by an ancient hand soft as a feather
the inner-most corner filled with a song

no longer is the burning a hurt,
but a kindly redemption
allow me to breathe, allow me to be –

but NOW listen, carefully:
I’ll breathe anyway, I’ll love anyway-

(if not the people who wouldn’t give a damn,
the rocks and rivers, birds and trees
the ocean, breeze, sunlight and stars
the skies and soil of the land that rejoices
in acceptance, in approval)

until the words continue to burn,
until the song sings in my heart!

*********

Well, This was to be posted y'day...it is Monday, today. Does it change the spirituality? But, Sunday is more or less the day of silent contemplation...

And, interestingly, my cousin was asking what this blog meant to me –

This blog was originally meant to be many things - basically an exploration of aspects of myself, issues that interests me as a woman, the world around me – but, now this has gladly become a dumpyard of what the muse chatters…& I let it free!

When it comes to explorations…some explore their physical being, some their spiritual being …I think I am more inclined to what Pierre Teilhard de Chardin says, and my writings could reflect that.

~We are not human beings
having a spiritual experience
We are spiritual beings
having a human experience ~
~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

I have not worked on poetry as a craft, my writings are only a means of expression – Some day, I may seriously work on the poetics of poetry. Until then, as they say, it is more of a ‘poetics of public language.’ ~

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/6000/nahled/2185-12662959200ySB.jpg

Not sure why...

2011-08-23T23:21:00.000-07:00

incessantly drizzling rain

moisten the earth evermore,

the bluish-grey skies

have given away to crimson hues

of August and autumn,

the birds are still singing in the boughs

and the sky...

today, trowel takes

the place of pen,

seeds and sprouts

replace words,

it is too early, still as the world

awaits fall

I prepare for winter,

roses, chrysanthemums,

nasturtiums, pansies

dahlias and daisies

bloom in my mind’s eye

now and ever,

as I live

an old dream

of living by the sweat of my brow,

with words and flowers

can reality be more beautiful

than dreams?

perhaps, yes!

but seldom can I imagine it to be

and, I’m not sure why…

*********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:http://nature.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/54045/

Night rain and after

2011-08-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

the dark rain
kept falling all night
pressing against
the window-panes
and the roof-tops

spearing through the night,
through the rain’s
broken chords,
a raven’s croak

between breaths
a short spell of death
a memory - dark, vivid

until time lifted the dark
to see the sky, torn and drawn
resting on rooftops,
and on pavements

for the sun
to lift it
back as

One

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.geography4kids.com/misc/nightrain.html

Hopelessly hopeful

2011-08-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

this poem is not about hope

or the belief in hope

for hope has turned out to be

a high star in some high sky

on which all wishes are wished upon

a lonesome star that burns bright

which aids our inaction

and all the improbable probabilities of chance

this poem is but a reaction to hopelessness

the only hope about this hopeless poem

is, it begins and ends there

for there is nothing to say

in hopelessness.

Yet-

for now, let them burn- the stars in the sky

and on the earth, and burn down

the walls of all conventions and contempt

then hope shall perhaps bloom

once again

PS: a reaction to the latest global news reports - Yes, it is by all means an emotional reaction - I wouldn't want the world to burn for any laxity of anyone...Issues are better solved through non-violent, amiable dialogue, I believe...But sometimes there is nothing to say, when it is the world reacting in unscrupulous, violent ways.

And yes, I still believe in hope - Not the hope of being bodily lifted to heaven; but that all people may find a decent means of living - an inclusive culture.....ah, let me stop there! :)

The kind of messages/questions that i get sometimes, make me write all these explanations - Especially because i have closed comments for other more personal reasons.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.natural-holistic-health.com/survival-strategies-to-combat-hopelessness/

On Time!

2011-08-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me if I considered time as my enemy or a friend -

I am not sure. All I know is, time is the only true resource I have.

And, I don’t see a resource as a friend or an enemy. It’s something I put to use like any other tool. And conversely, I don’t see a friend, or for that matter an enemy, as a resource or tool that I could ‘use’ or be put to use.

Yes, time is what I use or put to use. Even when I laze around, I am still aware…that I am enjoying my time, my resource, a source of regeneration. I find myself not fighting with time, but pacing with it.

Many great minds have said many things about time, based on their experiences, perceptions and perspectives. I think I have to agree with them all...at some point in time, or other.

~Time is like the wind, it lifts the light and leaves the heavy. ~ Doménico Cieri Estrada

~Who forces time is pushed back by time; who yields to time finds time on his side. ~The Talmud

~The time I kill is killing me~ Mason Cooley

~Time is a figure eight, at its center the city of Déjà Vu. ~Robert Brault,

I could go on and on…and on, as the time available with me.

But for now, I have other works to do. Blogging and any amount of soul-searching won’t help me pay my bills or fill my stomach. Not an avid eater as an avid reader, but still I do eat, so do others in the family :)

Two short verses are keying themselves out. Let them be:

working on a deadline-
trying to cheer me up,
the old Rolex timepiece
with its broken
tring, tring, tring

winds of time
not feeling the weight
of the past, or the lightness
of the present – only the calendar
leaves flying back and forth

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.time-management-central.net/time-management-resources.html

On trains and journeys

2011-07-31T21:12:00.000-07:00

I never knew why, never thought much about it. When it comes to the way one feels, perhaps there is no place for reason. It is just the way one feels.

Nothing, no profound thoughts to ensue. It's about the way I feel about train journeys. Is a train journey akin to journey of life – perhaps it is.

Compared to three-four hours of flight journey to my home-town, I prefer the three days' train journey. Though Suresh, my husband, often finds it tedious and wants to make it faster home, given a choice I would still vote for the three-days train travel. I see it as a full relaxation, a complete break from the routine - to have the side berth with a few books to read, a music system and a window to see the world passing by, and to shift from one to the other when one gets monotonous; food offered from time to time at your seat, tea as and when one feels like it, and plenty of time to lose …or find oneself as one may see it, is rather blissful for me. Normally, while travelling I don’t find myself in a mood to talk, but watch life and nature, in the train and/or outside, or be reading or scribbling stray thoughts that may cross the mind. And, if Suresh is travelling with me and finds it all too boring, I would sit up and chat with him…until he finds that boring.

Towards the end of the journey, while he is all packed and ready to jump off the train three stations before our station, I would still be ready for travelling another three more days. Though it feels great to smell the breeze of one’s homeland, and the excitement of reaching home is tremendous, sometimes, somewhere within, I would still want the journey to go on. I love long distance journeys, when the journey is relaxed and I have Suresh, or someone who would take care of the nitty-gritty of travel, with me.

On the other hand, when the travel used to be part of work and I had to keep vigil of all things myself, by the end of the first day, I would want to reach back home. Not only that the nostalgia is overwhelming, but the pressure of ‘taking care' is too much. When it is travelling alone and for work, I would only love to do short distance travel. But thankfully, I am not in any regular job anymore that requires me to travel extensively.

Then, in between my readings I came across these quotes. Probably they explain my state of mind, and that of other travel-lovers, while travelling. But then, at some point or other, howsoever beautiful the journey is, the need to get back home is overpowering.

‘I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.’ ~Robert Louis Stevenson

‘A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.’ ~Lao Tzu

'Half the fun of the travel is the aesthetic of lostness.' ~Ray Bradbury

The post is kind of a tribute to past vacations and was scribbled in bits and pieces during the last journey. This year's vacation home seems gone for a toss. No plans seem to be working out. Might go for a three-four days or weeks trip somewhere else…just for travel’s sake…and a break from this routine.

Sometimes, life becomes so tied to routine, it almost gets disrupted by the routine.

It looks like it now.

Anyway, perhaps for my new found love of haiku, i'd jotted a three-liner as well in one corner of the page,

long distance train
short distance travellers
coming and going

As said, if a train journey is akin to life journey, who is the long distance traveller? who is the short distance traveller - how does one know?

As far as the journey is....live and let live, love and let love be.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/journeysbyrail/4927485/India-Train-journey-on-a-relic-from-the-Raj.html

Changing Times

2011-07-28T21:21:00.000-07:00

Well, times are changing. They have changed, so say the kids. The kids in my neighbourhood.

To prove their point, they present proverbs and sayings that have changed over time:

They say:

‘God helps those who do not help themselves’ –
Yes, in our times it used to be: ‘God helps those who helps themselves.’
But, the kids sound sensible- why should God waste His time helping those who can help themselves.

‘When the going gets tough, the tough go to sleep’ –
Yes, the older among us would know, in our times – it used to be
‘When the going gets tough, the tough gets going’ –

But the kids seem to know, know better. They seem to get it right so young. Because, as age catches up with me, I too tend to do that. Sleep.

There were a few more...But, now I seem to be running out of time.
And, the going isn't any tough to sleep my days through.
Very Normal. Almost all days alike.
So, let me help myself out of my day’s schedule.
God doesn’t seem to be helping me with it.

Photo courtesy: I don't know whose work of art that is, but I see a Sri Krishna in there.
as per original copyright at:
http://www.discoverahobby.com/collectfineart.htm

down the memory lane, or something like that!

2011-07-21T22:43:00.000-07:00

a walk through the old lane
the worn out walls of the past
graffiti, pictures drawn in the dust
on the glass windows of offices
on parked vehicles

memory like the torn cadavers
in the old and fading
carvings of warfare in ancient caves,
carvings of flowers in a mausoleum,
covering it all with white linen
or should it be black?

a return to dreams
almost an impossibility
(or so I feel, for now)
listening to the surrounding
noise of reality, spreading
over the olden layers of silence
within

PS: One I may work later. I see there’s something in it and in my mind, and that’s just not flowing....yet, too many images coming to mind as well. Do not want to spill out mindlessly.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.tourismindiatoday.com/wayanad-kerala-tourism-pooket-lake-lakkidi-kuruva-island-wayanad-wildlife-sanctuary-edakkal-caves-brahmagiri-ambalavayal-heritage-museum-panamaram-begur-wildlife-sanctuary-chethalayam-water-falls/inside_edakkal3

Thoughts, just thoughts

2011-07-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

‘You’ve grown unforgivably lazy’
the muse speaks out from the pages
yellowing with time on a corner
of the table, too distant from me
banished from the dark sea of dreams
to the bleak shores of reality

I recline and rewind the music
for another time, the strain of strings,
the wind through the woods,
slow beat of drums to some one’s breath,
voice flowing through the air, stiff and morbid,
through the accustomed waves
of my thoughts and after-thoughts
alternating between reality and dreams

no, the music is too slow to hold
or I no longer care to differentiate
but wonder how many pages
it would be, if I wrote a novel,
an auto-biography?
what portion of it will be imagination,
what portion will be real?
are they any different?

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.keywordpicture.com/keyword/music%20sea/

O' captors

2011-07-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

O’ captors
seeking to cage the firebirds
behold your blessing
and your curse

if it is to this earth
you were abandoned
heaven be in your soul
here and now
it isn't for men
who knows not the worth
of freedom, of truth
and the love arising
from the depths of it

close your eyes
set the wild birds
in your hearts free
and break open
to see everything on earth
astonishingly simple
astoundingly beautiful

Firebird – of the old Russian folktales, the bird that is both a blessing and a curse to its captor.

*I know it’s a crazy piece….I don’t clearly know where it’s coming from. Perhaps the muse is gone crazy….Maybe, the muse could be a 'firebird' itself. And, I have to write it down and set the muse and myself free! :)

I dedicate this to my blogger friend by the same name; who writes such beautiful poetry here- http://firebirdlanding.blogspot.com/

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://clipart-for-free.blogspot.com/

Of knowing: the poet, a rose

2011-07-06T20:53:00.000-07:00

the burgundy rose bud,
which bloomed
on the day of your
death anniversary
cut and kept within the
the worn out
pages of your book

has all dried,
the petals, which held
the fragrance of your
unswerving words,
have withered
separating from the stalk,
the thorns on the long brown
stem have thickened

running my fingers through it
I come to know it was not
the beauty of love
in your words that held me

but, the sheer pain of knowing
what love was for you,
how tenderly
you walked through the
thorny path of life
until flinging yourself
unflinchingly
to death

PS: Last month, I was reading T A Rajalakshmi, a Malayalam writer and poet. She had won the Kerala Sahithya Academy Award in 1960 for her work “Oru Vazhiyum Kure Nizhalukalum” (A Path and a Few Shadows).

She committed suicide in 1965.

NO, This is in no way meant to incite suicidal thoughts in any one. But, I always thought it was courageous to commit suicide (not in young, adolescent years, when you don’t, or are not capable of, thinking about anything/anybody else but yourself. Yes, suicide is a selfish act i think. One who commits thinks of no one else, but oneself. Before knowing that a hurt or six to oneself is no reason to die). May be the act itself is courageous. And to do it later in life, after you know yourself, after you know what life is...and you know that you are capable of taking it through..ups and downs. That stirs thought.

If it was that easy, I myself would have committed it a few times :)
(that's a poor joke, i know!...should i say, if it was that easy, i would have tried at least once. But that's no joke at all!...May be life is a big joke, and death an eventuality. Or, may be as Sigmund Freud says, the goal of all life is death? Oh, crazy thoughts, leave it!)

Anyway, jokes and no-jokes aside, to commit suicide after completing 30 years, three decades of life -- while putting an end is courageous, it is puzzling too...may even be seen as senseless. But for this poet, i think the act was courageous at age 35. So is the suicide by my other favourite writer, Virginia Woolf, who killed herself at age 59!. No, Not admiring the act in anyway though. Just think of the works their lives would have presented us with....

Photo courtesy: per original copyright at:
http://www.123rf.com/photo_4218030_dried-red-rose-and-rose-petals-on-old-book.html

and that's drama, or melo-drama?

2011-07-04T22:46:00.000-07:00

when the curtains rose
we found ourselves on either side
on stage, and among
the audience - to act, enact and see
the drama we chose to play

struggling for twisted endings
all that was pure, straight
and simple was lost.

the rest of the story remained
knotted, seeking the viewers
to untie

as curtains fell
after Act-III

the show is to start elsewhere
in no time

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.psdgraphics.com/backgrounds/red-curtain-background-theatre-stage/

what had happened was perhaps life

2011-06-28T20:32:00.000-07:00

we met after a long time
in the dream, a dream
that lasted a night long

we spoke, and we spoke of things
that had happened, and that
we thought had happened

she asked, where my wittiness was gone
I said, gone, and gone
with the wind gone wild

she asked, where my quirkiness was gone
I said, washed, and washed
by the years of torrential rain,

she asked, where my laughter was gone
I said, drawn, and withdrawn
into the caves of my madness

she asked, where my smile was gone
I smiled a vain smile
when the dream ended, abruptly

and she was gone, without a word
a pale whiteness fading into light:
I'd wanted to ask her all the same

PS: This is an old one; may be 17-18 years old...just came to me this morning! :-)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.istockphoto.com/stock-photo-473612-blank-slide.php

All roads lead to…

2011-06-24T22:35:00.000-07:00

~‘There is no unassailable solitude. All roads lead to a same point: to the communication of who we are. And we must travel across lonely and rugged terrain, through isolation and silence, to reach the magic zone where we can dance an awkward dance.’ ~ Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, alias Pablo Neruda.

as life begins, and remember

it begins a little over 20,

or wherever, when you may chose

to be on your own feet ,

on an uncharted course,

with ambiguous forks, immense possibilities

one loses way, it is natural

quite natural, with your infinite affiliations

countless affinities

yet, set on course, you find yourself

and on finding oneself,

if again you let yourself astray

remember,

it is only to find the ways

to find oneself

and then to look back

the twists and turns

the ways you found yourself

in endless words, familiar

and unfamiliar, in curves and

straight lines, in rainbow colours

and the shades in between

in the symphony

of songs sung, unsung

and silence, in unbreakable solitude

or in the midst of diffusing crowd

is to know

the path has always been

a straight curve

set off by no one else

but you, yourself

to find yourself

to

know

yourself

PS: This note, of course, comes from my experience, but is the by-product of a discussion with a few youngsters, in their mid to late teens, whom I've had a chance to teach academic subjects; but were quite talented in other areas, including literature, art, music, drama/acting...

Left with no parental support - because parents don’t believe in them or their interests - they aren’t often quite sure of themselves, and quite unsure of what they want to do...whether to please the parents becoming engineers, doctors, academicians, businessmen, managers, lawyers...or go ahead and chose what they want to do - what will become if..but...if only: so many doubts and fears....

Well, we all know the safe middle course - to take up an academic/professional course for future financial security, and to pursue one's passion as a hobby - most of us have done that...but that wasn't the point.

It is quite trying for young art aspirants, despite the fact that Indian art scenario is considered hot and happening, presently...but that’s a different story...may be for a different time.

Photo courtesy: George Penders: as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/georgependers/4865384011/

Conversing with God

2011-06-15T19:58:00.000-07:00

it is said,
in the heavens
gods envy the mortality
of men and their freedom
to be and not to be

here,
down on earth
men covet life in heaven
dreaming of immortality
to be, forever and ever on

O’ God!
is it about time
for a reversal of roles?

yet, if done
how long
will those desires last?

truly speaking,
I don’t like your white world
and its white angels

I like the coarseness of people,
the down to earth people
here, down on earth,

so grant me
a few more years here
here on earth.

If you may,
please!

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://gallery.hd.org/_c/places-and-sights/_more2002/_more01/Cuba-Trinidad-from-Mirador-half-way-to-Grand-Vegas-mountains-trees-Caribbean-Sea-sun-2-MY.jpg.html

Transience

2011-06-03T20:22:00.000-07:00

along the sky’s edge
wispy whimsical clouds
negotiate with
the passing wind,
or it could be
a dissolute wind
advancing through the clouds

I simply delight
in their existence
and mine

a while later
it may not be
or I may not be

to breathe in death
in the centre
of life, from the centre
of life

could be nothing but

a blessing

Photo courtesy: cesare as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/cesare_photos/10292591/

A Request: To My Kith and Kin

2011-05-27T23:54:00.000-07:00

some mistakes are knowingly

repeated….like walking the old roads

of youth time and again, after the lover

got on the train to his/her destiny

leaving you stranded midway,

those mistakes are repeated

through many autumns

for the sheer beauty of it

to drink the sweet melancholy

of rain-swept trees, of wind-swept skies

bidding time to fly backwards

in its never-ending flight

but a poet can only walk

the way of poetry

through its natural twists and turns

with a mind steeped

in the deep wells of perception

of a dead past and a dying present

with a heart ripped,

always and ever screaming for truth,

love, and all things beautiful

restless like the winds of time

over the barren landscapes

poetry alone can ‘heal

the wounds inflicted by reason’

in a world of insanity

offering the feather-touch to normalcy

do not block the way of the poet

as he/she burrows deep

into his/her past, real yet illusive

in search of the spring of life

its meaning and worth.

'Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. ~ Novalis,
German Poet.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://indexofwallpapers.com/autumn-scene-wallpapers/autumn-scene-wallpaper-14.html

A simple tragicomedy from the old café

2011-05-24T21:36:00.000-07:00

at the far corner of the old café
they resume their dialogue
of success and failure
of cricket players and scores
of politicians and scams
of movies, movers and shakers
of sen-sex, highs and lows
of elections, governments and
of all (un)holy connections

in the hustle and bustle
I seek a corner of my mind
to resume the script
left behind
at some high point
when the story seemed tragic
from either side of the screen

when the waiter comes prodding:
Tea or coffee?

Tea? Coffee?
a Toffee please

as the sweet-ness melts,
at the corner of my mind
the script finally takes shape

when the clock on the old wall strikes-
time to go home

Photo courtesy: Fernando as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/revilla/1347710195/

Ambrosia, This innate need

2011-05-20T22:01:00.000-07:00

Ambrosia

as usual
at the eleventh hour
as I struggle to complete
the last report for the day
the muse is back
with a hell lot to say…
I bid her farewell
My, my dear Ambrosia, you aren’t welcome
now to spill your thoughts
on to these white pages
clouds may cover the sky
lightning may strike the ground
and I may lose
my job!

so much that I love you
come another time….come another time

Yes, Ambrosia is the name of my muse…. “In ancient Greek mythology, ambrosia (Greek: ἀμβροσία) is sometimes the food, sometimes the drink, of the Greek gods (or demigods), often depicted as conferring ageless immortality upon whoever consumes it. It was brought to the gods in Olympus by doves, so it may have been thought of in the Homeric tradition as a kind of divine exhalation of the Earth." (source: Wikipedia)

And she came again later in the day: this time with something completely different. So, here it goes:

This Innate Need

yes, I have changed
over the years
within and without
except this innate need
to feel alive, to laugh away life
from the depths of sorrowfulness

in these days
a strange dream occurs
in every sleep, I see myself
walking in the storm
to my pyre set somewhere
deep within the sea

in all the turn and toss
of the waves I wake up
to the dream half-lost

and light the old samovar
(an antique, an old Russian love,
it won’t heat up fast!)
half-lost in sleep
wondering how good it was
to feel lively in sleep
even if it was
walking to the grave

you might call it a night-mare
I would still call it a dream
and look unto it,
in every sleep

for those most lively moments

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.natures-desktop.com/sunset-wallpapers/sunset-sea-rocks.php

For the joy of writing

2011-05-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Besides the other joys of a simple living, writing - the art of writing- is enticing me ever more. More than I’d felt in my youth. Not the short and crisp lines that could say it all, in a few words in broken discord. The long and winding rhythmic sentences that may mean nothing to others, but offer me the pure joy of writing, flowing like a meandering river, offering a self-cleansing, emptying the mind again and again…

And, in my mild lassitude understand the writings, of mine and others, in quiet wonder, to sing the melodies my heart once knew… to fill the emptiness with fresh life.

To walk the path backwards is no way. I know not the time granted for my onward course….only the enthralling wilderness of the world and its ways, of life itself…and the path which clears with every step.

Fill me with music, O’ mild winds and rain! Free my way of the tempestuous outpourings and storms, for the frail heart is set on its final journey. My voice weaker day by day, I shall still sing your songs…when my heart feels the tenderness, when the dissonance dissolves in the melodies it knew once. If dissonance is music to your ears, I shall sing them too in my frail voice…

Allow me, the plain joy that my heart seeks, for I wish this went on and on...knowing, it may end anytime.

*******

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.researchwriters.co.uk/

for the love of lemons, the things we become

2011-05-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

summer deepens in the city of momentary pleasures

and in the garden of simple joys, over my roof

at the far corner near the broken-down chimney

sits the first bonsai I planted, of a sweet lemon tree

years of watering and pruning did it no good;

only the stems thickened and the leaves kept

coming and going, until I gave it your name

when sweet scented flowers and chirpy

chiffchaffs came upon it with spring-songs

in these days, the searing morning air is thick

with the fragrance of fresh lemons

rich and full in the piercing sunlight,

and the restless frail chirrup of a sunbird

busily building its summer resort

on the tip of a low branch.

that corner serves as a retreat

for me in the evenings, when the lemon-yellow

sun descends through the clouds,

when the viscous evening air

brings a faint memory of your lemon sorbet

cologne from the wilderness of times long past

into the temperate sobriety of the present

*********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://beebency.edu.ms/popa.php?k=c-hystrix-lime-tree

Telling Myself

2011-05-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

whereever
I look for oneness,
duality

the mind asks the heart
could we work like one?

after a wasteful contemplation
a quid pro quo agreement
to return to the heart
with no questions
only answers, only involvement,
acceptance

(involvement with no thought?
no questions? possible?
again mind's interference)

burn, burn the questions
involve, involve and burn yourself

it’s alright
telling myself
it is all right

transcend,
beyond mind and heart
beyond thoughts and emotions
beyond questions and answers,
beyond day and night
beyond light and darkness
beyond yin and yang
beyond life and death

beyond duality -
oneness
acceptance, transcendence

possible?
Shhh....No questions

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1b/Australian_bush_river_reflection.jpg

I have a few questions

2011-05-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

cliché may be

but, I have a few questions to ask

not that I need any answers

nor is anyone bound to answer,

just asking-

do we set fire to the house

to keep our bodies warm

do we bring forth children

who stab their knives into our hearts

do we bring about gardens

to be neglected, to visit

only to pluck flowers and fruits

(will there be any?)

do we -

do we --

do we ---

I seem to have many more

let them die in my heart

in my death

spare me no wreaths of flowers

when I be burnt, may those questions

bloom flowers of fire for you

that may kindle your spirits

to dream of a brighter future

to make it come true

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.wallpaperseek.com/blog/top-5-3d-wallpapers/

now, where’s this coming from?

2011-05-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

Now, where's this coming from?

I.

harbingers of peace,

if only we remember,

we are only marionettes at the tip

of distinct strings

played by the Supreme manipulator

for His Supreme pleasure

if accord seems achieved in a moment

it’s only an illusion,

if dissonance seems to prevail

that too is an illusion

concoct the hymns, the steps

and savour each

the moment passes,

so do we

but remember

do not set out to fence the wind

or satisfy the greedy

you won’t do well,

you just won’t.

II.

I seek your pardon

if my words disturb your peace

but, I know it won’t

the calm,

the peace

is not meant for people

like you and me

whose life sustains on unsettled thoughts

and shifting impressions of life

that might mar peace

still, on days I see blood in the streets

I shut my eyes

rush home, close the windows

and listen to the boy

playing harmonica

on the old record player

and begin to feel

irreparably fearful

III.

the thoughts which were lost

in the overflow of life yesterday

have come back to settle

in the dark corners

of the mind,

reminding it’s time I filled

the thermos with tea

for your night reading

and get myself to sleep

for now, I am tired of flowing

out thoughts

**********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.mycleansky.com/?a=contrails

Dead Conversations

2011-04-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

not that words could kill
but somewhere
south of the conversation
I found myself

dead

dead like a fallen log
across the stream
flowing from nowhere
to nowhere in the thick forest

others and their words have flown
away, crossing the stream

did my words wound them,
didn’t my silence soothe them?

I need not know anymore

(but, how would I know?)

Photo courtesy: Kevmann 16 as per original copyright at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kevmann16/250408726/

Spring of Life

2011-04-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

you are the very substance
men and women are made of
the undying hunger, the thirst
all my fingers clearly point to it

but, this I know - this hunger,
the thirst, is not of the flesh,
there’s enough in the fridge,
come of age with the other too

the end and beginning of the hunger,
the thirst, is for the spirit of life
the ever-giving spring of life
to see life embracing life

without fear, without doubt
not one, but all-encompassing
in love and in timeless truth
not in words, empty of meaning

in spirit, the rejoicing spirit
wish, oh, but only a wish
of an old fool grown young
to dream like a child

~‘Come let us consider together, ponder together and be happy together; Let us reason together and bring forth Happiness.’ ~ Jiddu Krishnamurthi

Let us do, but can thought or reason bring about togetherness and happiness? Let’s hope?

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:
http://www.asia.ru/en/ProductInfo/932739.html

Song of the Lark

2011-04-20T22:18:00.000-07:00

like a lonesome bird
tossed by an unruly wind
my soul, bare and torn
with a broken song
flings itself against the windows
of castles high in sky
snooping for songs
played in the glorious halls

no, not there – somewhere
along the evening’s edge
I hear the song of the lark
spearing the hazy skies
singing for all its worth,
the very one in my soul

don’t you hear,
dear, don't you?

where have you lost
the heart that gathered
the songs of many a bird
across many a sky

where have you lost
the heart, dear, where have you?

**************

Inspiration:

~ The winsome song of the ascending lark
Hails the gentle soul and loving heart
Ever heard in silence sweet
Soul and heart in grace do meet.

~ Rose Marie Raccioppi

Photo: The Song of the Lark, a painting by Jules Adolphe Aimé Louis Breton, a French Realist painter. There’s also a novel of the same title by American author Willa Cather.

Photo Courtesy: as per original copyright at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Song_of_the_Lark.jpg

On a break!

2011-04-14T21:48:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I'll be off from blogging for a while.

but will surely be looking forward to read,

Best Wishes & Happy Blogging :)

devika

Meantime, A Happy Vishu to all Keralites :)

Bansuri

2011-04-12T20:12:00.000-07:00

ever heard the sound of light

crack open the blue water lilies

on the river turned aside

at moonset by a shifting tide

....

didn’t we speak about it

a year ago, Krishna, a hundred

years ago, a thousand years ago

Krishna, didn’t we?

....

Krishna, come, do play

your bansuri in my ripped heart

that beats, stops, and

then goes on and on with it

.....

Krishna, the tears, the cleansing,

make me the woman I was

but so futile, oh so futile

come, do play the bansuri

Inspired by: Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasya

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpdA4Wpv2Fo&feature=related

.. ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqLxvZ2d4nc&feature=related

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:http://www.bluelotus-export.com/index.php?lay=show&ac=article&Id=329676

the world always takes you home

2011-03-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

we were the radicals

(to mean nothing else

but Bernard Shaw’s fools)

who wandered a borderless world

of thoughts, dreams and ideas

rocking the narrow corridors

of our own minds, and the collective

soul of the universe

where light and shadow

mingled with intermissions of

noise and silence -

suffocated,

we longed to run out

when we did

we were badly caught

between the earth and sky

fetching our way out

we kept walking

until the earth and sky

shrunk into two words

in our respective

mother tongues

on our way home

*********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://animals.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/152937/

Incongruence

2011-03-22T00:12:00.000-07:00

sitting by the edge

of the cerulean pool

looking at the freshly opened lotus

the disciple asked the guru

the old cliché, hesitantly

Guro, what is the love you speak of

how is romantic love different from spiritual love

. .

with a curl of smile on his lips

the guru looked deep into

a point within the lotus,

and started in a low tone:

in romantic love

if I say, I love you

you shall be responsible

for my love, it is for you to keep it alive

time shall be its master

neither you nor me

in spiritual love

if I say, I love you

I shall be responsible

for my love, and it is none of your business

it will live as long as I would,

time shall be its servant

neither you nor me

the disciple gasped

in the face of the guru’s voice,

risen somewhere in between,

and, the force of loves lost to time

all in equal measure

*************

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:http://www.lotuscentre.org/pure-meditation.php

days in the life!

2011-03-19T23:10:00.000-07:00

certain mornings are like that,

waking, with only a thought

to be awake, to give the day

a shot in the arm, the every day

business of life

then, there are certain others

with only a desire

to lie quiet

listening to the rhapsody of rain

spattering through the ledge

to the noise

of someone in the kitchen

to the smell of strong coffee

brewing

this is one such day

and there’s no one

in the kitchen

...

*********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.waterrhapsody.co.za/2010/04/23/harvest-your-rainwater/

resolving with none, but self

2011-03-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

within the range of nothingness

bordering between love and hate,

and a bare mercy

we again find

ourselves out of range

we are the ones who retraced

our paths, with nothing to say,

there’s nothing to remember

nor to forget

except to contain ourselves

along the course, the difficulty

of being good

and perhaps not to take oneself

so seriously, lest,

it could strip off

that mediocre sanity

so vital

to our well being

...

**********

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/dont-delay?page=6

mournful on a spring morning

2011-03-09T20:29:00.000-08:00

spring has arrived in its glory

on the meadows and the valley

filling my restive mind

with a certain kind of grief

there’s no one to cry with,

there’s no need

the red earth bringing forth

wild pomegranates, silently,

from the ashes of our indifference

the still-water bearing

the moving sun-sparked clouds

in its clear depths

is a replica of my mind

...

fiery, somewhere within

where a miscellany of thoughts

collide with a worn out memory

serene on the face, have to be

...

there’s no one to cry with

there’s no need

...

joining earth and water

I observe my grief, my self

this sense that all who left are there

somewhere; that’s all, and that’s enough.

.....

********

...

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.uni-graz.at/~katzer/engl/Puni_gra.html

Poets’ Syndicate

2011-02-26T19:30:00.000-08:00

singing and sighing

about the beauty

of slow fading light,

along the sedated streaks

on a late November sky

the poet again sinks

into silence and a swirl of smoke

unwinding in the wind

weaving words out of memories, and

memories out of words;

imaginations out of dreams, and

dreams out of imaginations

we trace our way back to

our destined islands of solitude

again, to sing

the beauty of fading light, and

the light of fading beauty;

to hear

the music in silence, and,

the silence in music

**********

...

PS: Reminded all too often in these days, but it is the impressions from an old incident. We used to hold workshops in college….a group of engineering students interested in poetics and arts either presenting and discussing theirs or bringing in more renowned poets and artists to hold discussions on poetry and arts. i was often only an onlooker. I kept mine to myself...except a few in souvenirs and internal class magazines.

...

Photo courtesy: ChrisGoldNY (Chris Goldberg) as per original copyright at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chrisgold/5180398511/

Blindness

2011-02-21T19:18:00.000-08:00

when all the love,

is played out,

or lost in the

bleak coffers of time,

it is only

kindness

that matters

more so

with age seeping

into our tepid veins

then the vice of youth

that love is blind

becomes the wisdom of age -

kindness is blind

too.

walk, the path is ever clear

where kindness takes over

********

This again is a conversation, the other day with a friend. The conversation started with this post I’ve written sometime in the year I started Blogging: http://devika-jyothi.blogspot.com/2008/10/tribute.html

It embarrasses me that all the crazy thoughts and things I write here become topics of discussion….But then discussions have their value. .

Oh her question, if love is ever lost; no i don't think you lose it once for all....but there are times you feel exhausted....but love is a gift of God....returns whenever the heart runs dry....and then it's again a blind embrace...good or bad! In a way, it is a gift of God for oneself...You feel good when you love; nothing else matters! :)

.....

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://www.mmorpg.com/newsroom.cfm/read/19575

Stories of my Life- I

2011-02-18T21:56:00.000-08:00

that was just another day he left me

when an orange sun was setting

in the grey west-end sky

far across the railway line

on my way back home

in the falling darkness

with only a soft light of moon

behind the floating clouds,

trees stood in a deep melancholy

as if something unpleasant

has happened in the neighbourhood

it had -

the dog that came one evening

to mark its territory at the gate

had died in the day, and scavengers have

taken the corpse without a trace

that night I couldn’t sleep

not for the absence of the man home

but the death of that dog,

as in earlier times, when he would go

the dog had kept a watch on my door

and in the mornings next

I would thank my little gods

for the full nights peaceful sleep,

and feed the dog a morsel from my plate

in my world, turned upside down

oftentimes, I’ve felt

Dog and God meant the same

especially the one that died

*********
..

Photo courtesy: Dave Elmore as per original copyright at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/daveelmore/3285417549/

a time for eros, a time for pathos

2011-02-15T19:34:00.000-08:00

years before, in this city of despair

I’d roamed like a lost woman

searching your face in every crowd

your name in every hoard, in every word

I wrote the most silliest of love poems

in transparent ink on bluest skies

that clouds raced and erased

without a faintly trace

tonight, laid back on my divan, I look

back at those days and think of writing love

poems that would fetch me a ransom

for buying a quill pen holder, or the art on

display at the exhibition, or a classy watch

for the man home; I come to know,

I am no young woman, lost; nor a love poet,

but mercifully realise, it’s good that

marriage was not in our cards, but

have you as a muse of eternal romance

for poems that I may succeed to write

some day, in some intense daze;

not to feed my bygone needs then

but to treat myself with the beauty,

and outcome of love,

love that’s not meant to be,

not meant to be

& a time for thanatos

facing the light
I realise
I can’t continue to face the light
as the flowers of passion
in the garden of desire
.
yet, if I am to close my eyes
If I am to deprive myself of anything
and everything
.
before my breath
becomes a burden and guilt
earth take me into your
dark womb in flesh
or abandon me into the
dark seas in ashes
.
I’ve lived more than I ever wanted

********

I've been asked by a publisher friend, who wants me to work seriously on poetry for a likely publication, to save the better ones from being published here...Better ones are not coming my way, nor am I presently inclined to trouble my mind with any serious poetic pursuits, other than the work I have to do for my living....so as usual this will be kind of a journal for thoughts that cross the mind....poetry or not :)

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at:

http://trapanicomm.com/index.shtml

War and Peace, my own way

2011-02-03T21:29:00.000-08:00

what’s been my war

but the fight within to find my peace

what’s been my peace

but a freedom to war with myself

seeking opposing viewpoints

to gain a vital balance

(a voice of dissent being

more vital than that of assent;

I might seek yours' too)

but when and why

did they come in between

these words and terms

lying hither and thither

I know not -

I don’t own them, yet,

can never disown them

before my eyes

one by one they gain their poise

flying off, like doves

in their turn, I’ve known them all

in and out, inside out

and I’ve known the peace

descending from beneath

their wings, as they fly off

from my mindscape to their

choicest skyscapes

**********

PS: As I chose a break from blogging, this one wrote itself while doing the household chores this morning….better to let it out here, than lose it.

Photo courtesy: as per original copyright at: http://dovereleasecork.com