Of Rivals and Regards

Image Coutesy - Berkley's Classics Illustrated
Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The old man and his scar-burned night
Fearing an impending fiery fight,
His heart with venegence and,
Himself on galley... both alight!

The beast of many fathom deep and afar,
Fabled to have whithered many a spar,
It isn't a fickle to wrestle the fiend...
Besides, having your wounds ajar.

Loathsome as it was to him....
The old man knew it was no dim,
He had to use all his might and stealth,
Lest the beast turns into an omen of grim....

"Ahoy!" Yelled the old man, with all his might,
Poseidon thrashing the hull, left and right
At the helm, the seafarer, in his horde, imbued
A charge of vigor to disarm their fright.

Steering to the light of the Lucky Lucifer,
Fearing the might of the Robust Critter,
And then, a howl, a crash, a cry of war
And the crew scampering hither thither.

The tail swooshed to snap the prow...
And moved ahead for another blow.
In one swift motion, the twain shall meet
The beast and the mariners taut crossbow...

Alas! The beast proved to be too strong...
And the old man couldn't keep up for long...
The fiend, then coiled his body and took him,
As if he were a war souvenir, to take along.

Plunging down to seabed under many a wave
It proved it wasn't so much of a knave
With all due honours to his peer,
It buried him in his watery grave

Story became legend, legend became lore,
Old Man was remembered for bravery galore
But none recalled the fiend....
For the drop he added to the vast sea,
Nor for the deep veneration it bore!

Note - The verse draws its inspiration from quite a few of my favourites - Old man and The sea by Ernest Hemingway, Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Moby Dick by Herman Melville; and for all its worth, I would like to believe this to be a tribute to them all.

Brother Bare

Here lay in ashes, my kin of long since.

Here they charred as were destined once.

We are but akin for brittle or dense,

The light from The Father is what I lens,

While his heat they fiercely dispense!

I am pressed hard to shine abright,

They burn and ash - all red and white.

As their blackened bodies smolder,

And I remain a chipped ‘n honed boulder.

They dwell in deep, and I in deeper lair.

While the light I utter would surely ensnare,

Their selves perish to give the light aflare.

For its our fate as a Lucent pair,

One bare one unbare!!

We differ not much as virtue and vice,

And whence rendering our father’s prize,

What I can do, they can do twice.

Yet, I would be reckoned a prise,

Whereas in ashes lay my unsung kin – waiting for reprise।

धर्मार्थ

रण का नाद उठा जब
दक्षिण में, धनुष्य की कोटि से...
"जाओ वीर, हर लाओ
एक लिंग, कैलाश की ही चोंटी से।"

ऐसा कहते ही, श्रीराम के परम भक्त,
पवन-सूत, बजरंग हुए नतमस्तक।
"सत्य वचन, प्रभु" कहा "बिन लिंग,
रण विजय यज्ञ, अब रुका रहेगा कब तक।"

यूँ कह बजरंग ने आशीष लिया
और हुए आँख से ओझल,
यहाँ तो है बस कोसों-कोसों
नील नभ, बालू रेत औ' जल,
"यत्र - न ब्राहमण ना अर्धांग"
श्रीराम के चिंतन में यही था पल-पल।

बिन ऋषि, बिन लिंग,
वे यज्ञ विजय का कैसे पूरा कर पायेंगे?
और, जाने कौन घड़ी में,
बजरंग कैलाशपति को लायेंगे।

श्याम वर्ण की चिंता जब,
चहूँ दिशा में व्याप्त हूई....
और दशानन रावण को
श्रीराम की ग्लानी ज्ञात हूई....

तब लंकापति, असुरराज ने
ब्राह्मण धर्म निभाया है...
स्वकरों से बने बालू लिंग से
श्रीराम का विजय यज्ञ करवाया है।

औ' यही नहीं, वे लाये साथ
सिया को, पुष्पक विमान में ....
यह देख प्रभू श्रीराम झुके,
ब्राह्मण के सनमान में।

लिंग बना, जो डिगा नही,
इतिहास ने ये कहीं लिखा नही
कि रणभूमि में असुरराज ने वीरगति जो पाई है,
वह इस कारण कि, कर्म, धर्म और
शेष सभी की चर्या पूरी निभाई है।

SNUG

He tugged a little on right and then a little harder on the left, leaned his head over her shoulder and said softly “You know I’ve always wanted to use this phrase…. I’ve always wanted to mumble ‘sweet nothings’ in your ear….”

“Well-if-you-don’t-loosen-this-a-bit….. I-don’t-know-about-sweet…..” she wheezed “….but-I-sure-would-be-able-to-say-nothing….” She let out a sigh as if it took a great deal of effort to say that; A sigh that was drowned in his chuckles. She shrugged her shoulders to ease the corset and stared hard at the glass…. Into those eyes and ran her hand through his ruffled hair.

“I don’t think I need the corset so tight when there are other things keeping me warm.” She lipped impishly.

Utterly incapable of taking his eyes off her, full of admiration and tempt, he briefly raised his head from her shoulder and mumbled “Like…?”

As he leaned back into her neck, she gave a little shudder and said “Like your warm breathe…..umm….Like your arms wrapped around me….”

“So…. It’s snowing outside just so you and I can stay indoors, eh?? I like that….” Before he could exhaust his breathe, she had pranced over to the misted screen. He walked up behind her, put a hand round her waist and wiped a clean circle in the fogged glass with the sleeve of his tattered sweater.

“Just like our own orb isn’t it?? And listen to the ice chunks making the tin roof sing….. Pitter Patter Pitter Patter…. The music and the sight make me crave for a dance…..” she crooned as she turned on her heel and held him. They waltzed around, he strutted with a limp on left and she swayed repetitively with a little twitch.

The two leaned into an oddly comfortable posture and stopped still. He broke the stillness with an untroubled “I am sorry”.

“What for?”

“Well, I remember the time when we wouldn’t wait for winters for it to snow….. when snow was just a tilt away…. when someone just shook our home about and I would wrap you in my warmth.” He said deeply. “There was a time when we would prance many a times in a day…. every time that kid turned the key. And we made music of our own. That was our orb…. Our globe…. Our home. I am sorry that I couldn’t save our snug little world.”

“Hey…. We don’t need a key or someone to tilt us to make this our home. I love this side walk we live on now. I love these brief months of winter, which bring back the memories of our celebrated abode.” She held up his chin and smiled “It’s just our SNOW GLOBE that has aged, not us…. its two who make it a home…. Our home….. and you are just as warm…. it’s you who makes this home, SNUG.”

Of You as much For You

Colour me Red, White and Blue...
With every possible Earthly Hue...
Colour me conventional....
Or may be just a little askew...
Like a bright Green mountain...
Or some placid sunset's view...
Feeling the staleness of dead Brown...
Or fresh and crisp as morning dew...
Like an all new concoction...
Or a steaming hot brew.
Alongside the canvas...
Over the time as I grew...
The brushes turned stagnant...
And only my hands drew...
Colours of my life, and...
Everything about, flew...
In Love I fell deeper...
And all I painted was YOU!
You as I painted, I realised...
The Colours are too few...
With You starts Life and
All colours in time due...
Fall short for your facets
All Old and New...
Varying in your facets...
Too many; not few...
So many things to yourself, that,
Everything in its own leu;
Hides a sign of life...
Of nature...
Of Beauty...
Or simply put...
OF YOU...

Colours of Joy

He woke up startled, a smile spread across his face and a feeling of high very evident. As he lay on that charpai, spread-eagled, he screwed his face trying to remember what had made him wake up with a start and why he was so happy despite a broken sleep.

The smell of burnt wood wafted, with a chilly November breeze, from the sigri under his charpai. Its warmth was a solace for his bare arms and legs in such nights. He could hear the birds chirping at a distance and knew he had only a few more minutes to lie before he heads off with the cattle for their daily graze. He took a deep gulp of saliva to quench his dry throat, and the winced at the aftertaste of garlic from last night’s dinner. Everything else was dark, the chirping and the chill and the whiff and the taste all meddled with what he wanted to think about. Plus the urgency as the night was about to end…. He turned his head in an attempt to doze off again.

For the next few moments he tossed around lazily and then considering it as a lost cause woke up again; though the experience, that had woken him elated, lingered on. Getting back home, he took a deep breath and the air was scented with freshly thatched cow dung cakes, making a thoughtful gesture he moved quickly to wash up. After the daily chores of the morn, he picked up a bamboo limb and headed to fetch his bovine companions.

It was amazing, the dexterity with which he moved among the fields on the paltry muddy pathways. Every now and then he’d run his hand in the bristles of grass and trying to make something more out of the tickling sensation. He whacked the buffaloes a few time just to hear them groan and again smiled as the thoughts of wee morn kept renewing inside him. On his way, he pulled off a few leaves from an abutting bush and kneaded them on his palm impishly, and his smile broadened as he put his palm to his nose and let the aroma fill him up. To him it was all a joy of discovery…. Over and over again!

Reaching the destination, he tied the buffaloes to the tree and got inattentively distracted by the clinking of their bells. He sat there for many minutes flicking the bells casually and repeatedly just to hear them and the same jubilant smile lit up his face. He had packed for himself some extra amount of rice for lunch, just so he can have a nap while the buffaloes grazed. The idea of a siesta was just too tempting, for previous night’s slumber had just given him a new found joy!

He sat for on the bare ground and started tucking in the rice, and again he mashed up a lump of rice in his fingers and kept stretching them out and back in to feel the stickiness, and again like a new born who just learnt to stretch out his fingers, he would giggle out with joy and kept doing it in hope to find something more. After having played with his food for much time, he undid his bundle and stretched out a tattered sheet on the ground; unbundled himself and did as intended – stretched himself out. For a last brief moment before having dozed off he felt the gravel lying all around him and heard its crunch.

Then he just slipped off into the world he aspired to! All that was dark suddenly came to life…. The open sky had a strange hue of freedom… The home he lived in was earthy in complexion. In his fantasy, he walked among the grasses and crops that had a restless tinge about them, a sort of playful pigmentation; the buffaloes grazed somewhere nearby and a mere look towards them made it clear they were of a lazy solid tincture; leaves and twigs of bush around his field swayed with the winter breeze and looked intoxicatingly saturated; and the gravel among which they grew were heavily undertoned.

If truth be told, this was his fantasy, his fancy, his dream and that was the best he could do. When awake he had to use four of his senses to understand the hues of the beautiful world around him, which he couldn’t name, but when asleep he made up for the one sense he didn’t have.

His dreams was where he saw, his dreams was where is envisioned his sensations of the worldly escapades, his dreams was where his had not bounds to his vision. He didn’t have to name every hue he saw, so long as he felt it right….. But his dreams was where he saw COLOUR.

The Toxic Femme

Her intoxicating beauty,
The greed to hold her close.
Her aroma and her fumes,
Drawing you outdoors.

That enlightening experience
That sigh which you exhale
That fire of passion
Her allure making you pale.

Feeling winded from inside,
Making the thoughts to twirl
That aimless stare at her,
And charring of your curl.

Is she a witch...
Or a magician...
Or is it a phoenix...
Rising again from it's ash...
Or just something you renew
To escape the worldly lash!

Heavenly Tail / The Wilderness

As I sat on my woody perch,
Among the bales of hay,
Waiting eagerly
For the end of another sunny day,
I saw the fading daylight
Filtering through the canopy of trees,
And watched patiently
The home-coming of the ill fated bees.
On the west horizon, The tyrant sun
was reduced to a mere smear,
And the anxiety rose in me,
As I saw it disappear.
Suddenly there was blackness
All over, in the farms,
In the barns,
In all the wild wilderness.
My wait was over -
What was about to unfold
In the wild and the untame,
Was what I longed for -
Twas an extraordinary game.

Like always,
The 'Beasts' were first to arrive,
Oblivious to the fact, that
At the end of the game,
It may not survive.
In the moonlit night
Their fur shone brightly,
As they glided along the wilderness
E'er so slightly.
Hunting for bees, and nibbling on comb
With it's paws - sharp and strong,
Hoping to feed with it
The Young Cub - tugging along.

Saving the stares of the uncouth beasts,
Crawled in the hindsight, an unwelcome guest.
He was The Predator Of The Beasts,
Handsomely dressed in a kilt and a vest.
Bears in his focussed mind,
And eyes full of tempest,
He had to make his Kill
Before the moon went down in the west.

The three metal studs in his belt
Were all that shone in the dark;
To conceal that too,
He made his refuge behind the thickest bark,
And from his shelter, he looked upon
The bear and the cub who larked.
And held his movement and his breath
To make hiss presence unharked.

His dagger dangling from his belt,
He pranced to make his kill.
Alas! he couldn't 'cause
He froze as if taken ill.
Dumbstruck
Astounded
Spellbound
By the beauty and the flair
Of the fur and tails
Of the beasts that shone so bright,
With his eyes popping
And jaw dropping
He stood there all night.

The distance never neared
As if 'twas the light of their fur
That he feared.
He watched them growing faint
And felt himself becoming frail,
The last to leave the sight
Was the brightest of all -
The Cub's Tail.

It's almost dawn and
It seems the game is over.
But something tells me,
He'll look for vengeance from the beast,
Lest, again, the beauty bowls him over.

Programmed

Being an android ain't easy. Especially when you can see and feel the world around you go smooth and fine, while you creak about in tin-shells. Not a finger could move without a jerk, and mind you, I don't even have the pleasurable jerks despite so many of them.

The same work everyday, every week, week after week; And why so? 'Cause people liked my work. I mean, I am an android, can't possibly have much variation to my job, its monotonous and I've perfected it since I was born or rather made.

Feel like I am programmed, which I am, but still, answering cues, taking orders, doing chores is all I have in life. Don't even havve enough rejuvination time to charge myself up between two acts. Just me, rolling in and out, and watching the world enjoy at my expense. I need a break from these cues and orders, these chores and this work, this tin-shell apprel, these jerky moves.

But what can i possible do??!! It's been months like this now, since the day this wretched play was written and this android sketched. Since then, from curtain rise to curtain fall I am an android...... and beyond the curtain I am PROGRAMMED!

Freedom - "Paid For"

It's been like this for days now, these overcast, grey skies, hazy climate and morose lights. Everytime I look through that window, day or night, cloudy or sunny, the same of train of thought runs through my mind and soul - My Daughter.

She loved looking endlessly out of that window, towards the sky. Day in and day out, all she did was, sit in the rusty, creaky chair and stare at the sky. But, she really had little choice than do that - barred from attending school, as good as jailed an the house, she had no friends, nor any siblings. Here, endless eye-wandering, looking at "free" birds fly, were her only means or quanta of hope. Suffering a punishment for someone else's ill deeds, being grounded and the confinement was getting her no where; nor doing any good to her nerves. That longing for freedom could be seen in the eyes; the ones I dared not meet for the fear of seeing a deserved hatred in them. There were moments when a cuckoo or a sparrow would fly by and she would smile genuinely with a twinkle in her eye. I longed to see her like that for long, but I wasn't the decision maker.

To keep her couped up in the house, for social stigma, was the ill-fated girl's fathers decision, my husband's decision.

Being a lady and of gentler heart than my husband, I could feel the pain of her physical chains owing to paralysis and the mental chains owing to her father's paranoia. When her pain became unimaginable and unbearable to me, "I set her Free".
Precisely why I am in confinement of these grey mossy walls with a singular barred window.

"Cost of Freedom - Freedom"

Heavenly Tale

Picture by Devesh Uba

Splashes of blood,
And stains of flesh;
He goes down bravely
In the red flood.

Armies of the victorious,
Running all amok;
Taking the battlefield
Celebrations are glorious.

The field was turning gently black,
Blotched with mellow red,
With flowing blood of the fallen knight,
Who has the will to fight back.

Joyous is the army bright
Shroud of darkness round,
Beaming, sparkling, radiant,
At the broken warriors flight.

Ignorant in glee and totally unaware
Of the knight's strong will;
At the break of dawn he will be back,
And scuttle the army, with his lambent flair!