Hushed

Living on the edge, minding your answers and making the best of today. Why is the world rooted in the diktats of condition? A life departs quietly somewhere in the dead of the night, yet no one hears the hush. Tomorrows are like shadows waiting to be claimed, asserted and given in to. With friends and known faces, is it still a skill to socialize in sobriety? When they confiscate our world, what remains are a few hopes, crushed dreams and shattered truths.

Whenever I’m disturbed in my thought-flow, what right do I have to demand them back? Life, or something similar to it, condescends to stop and gape at my emptiness. The kids playing outside rumble on about home-works and “tasks”. How could I let them go – those reveries, silly nothings? Departures. Pauses. Sometimes, the tether’s too small for domesticity!

This one’s for the lonely dweller. I’ve responded to your challenges in feats of mimicry, yet returned to you every time! Torn between the tussle of fabrication and reality, was I wrong to have waited …? Don’t know, if I ask you how you love me, what your answer should be. Mystery breeds the anonymous, when creation becomes the last resort. I’m hungry for the words to seduce me to your swoon. Until the time that happens and words cease to matter anymore … Life will dish out the best for you, even when you live abandoned like Crusoe.

EDEN (from the recesses) ...

The rain sleeps on
In the terraces of our oblivion.
Cradled by the half-moon
Sailing past the midnight skies,
Rustled by the leaves of memory,
As you sleep on -

As I look at you, in slumber,
Your feet rapping in every beat,
The prelude to an end.
Your call -
Echoed through the tresses
Of a dark night's ballad,
True to its meter,
Prays for an eternity of deja vu.

Savoured by the briefest of memories,
Alive to the calls of a world
Rendered infinite by the trappings of vanity.

The mirror wherein I see myself,
Is someone I'm not.
Is it you
Sailing the high seas past windy nights?

You've been there - in history,
In the recesses of chronology
As I stand divided in the Forest of Choice,
Waiting for you to deliver
The soul that ever was
Secured in translation.

Transferences

Time changes with the breath of a conch, like the bath a blade of grass takes on dew … The things that leave you never to return, words spoken never to be uttered again. The whispers stealing into my ears from amid a thousand noises. How do you manage to make it so far from the silent skies? Friends from a far off place calling ... Where have you gone in the loneliness?

Life in a Matrix

There are a couple of addresses for this one: the old Calcutta chromosome vs. the New Age destination. Enraptured in the savoir-faire of the sequentially encapsulated changelings, I stepped out of my freshly spun aura of a life of discriminating comparisons. What seemed to be the worst was indeed a flux of the imbeciles drooling on a pond of self-centeredness. Work’s a thing of the past, the performance part of it being “product oriented”.

Why am I writing all this, when I should be scribbling a couplet of poetic verse more fluently than some mere outsourcing shit? Good question. Ha! Life in a Matrix has been an enriching experience, teaching me the tougher things of life the hard way. This is where I learned that in order to be successful, all you need to do is be aware of your worst potentials, and keep practicing. The test lies in delivering modesty till kingdom come.

All in all, the New Age transition from the Old World of cushioned reveries was a sabbatical from the cloistered professionalism. When there’s a loophole, there’s the exacting administrator at your service! Ahem, ahem … However, life’s good, bad and ugly and there are bad days – the good being an exception. Then it comes to you in dreams: the deadlines and the frowns …! Work from home, telephone calls in the middle of the Pujo – it’s a full circle of chasing ambitions.

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