A perfect living!

Life looked superfluously perfect beyond her blue eyes. However, the blueness was hard to define or specify. It could be the colour of her eyes that made it pretty indeed, or it could be just the blue liner that covered the grayness of the vision- in need. At the end of the day it was so perfect, even the struggle for existence- this while and that- that they seemed to be falling at their respective places designed and defined by plans superficially made. It was only between dusk and the darkness it seemed, that she with her pretentious ignorance would look up at the sky in search of her favourite twilight, and right at that moment would her 'eyes' blue 'eyes' blink a sigh!

The Memory of a Melancholic Morn.

The day wore melancholy since early morn. The way she washed, dressed and looked out of the veranda then caressed the layers of hair that were disturbingly lingering with the breeze above her eyebrows, and then tickling the cheeks, had something melancholic about them too. While arranging the scattered books in hastiness that looked like or rather supposed to be like ‘in a hurried’ gesture, she found a few disowned papers (that had a look of much owned ones, but she knew in the heart they were disowned indeed). So she touched the papers to feel their presence but looked away. The promises were never kept. So there were no reasons to look back. But then someone someday wrote beautiful pieces of poetry with her thoughts engraved in them. She did not feel grief any more, but those disowned poetries in the disowned pieces of papers had something melancholic in them. No one possibly can blame her for feeling melancholy that Monday morn.

H-O-P-E-!-!-!

She felt his eyes on her in the gaps of the moments when she was not staring at him. They both knew they were staring at each other but their eyes never met; or may be they did in the fraction of a second between looking at and looking away. They probably knew that they both knew, but chose to pretend ignorant about the staring business.

allbutlove!

She was pretty. He was successful. They were in love. But they said goodbye!
She had for him a religious kind of respect. He was sincere; but shallow! :P

And You The Clown & I The Fool!

And I the fool or you the clown
We both are but performers.
I fool around;
You make the crowd
Laugh out really-really loud.
We both are efficient in being
Deceptive and pretentious,
With our respective pride and honor.
You make weird faces
Painted in colorful hue -
You hide the heart
Painted by the fate, so blue!
I show them all, how well
I can define stupidity,
And they trust me all
And never do they doubt
The ‘stupid’ heart’s audacity!
They know not how well I know
I find it fun, to never show.
But I the fool and you the clown
Let us perform no more
After sun-down.
Let us put away the make up
Of cosmetic smile.
Let us unmask then tuck our faces
In each other’s heart this while.
But if the clown in you denies
To let it show,
And if the fool’s heart in mine
Denies, to let go-
Let you be the fool
And I be the clown this while.
Let you know it all
In the heart flaunting foolishness;
And I flaunt my tears in smile!

A Smile For You...

No, not the first time
I have felt it before,
The chill in my heart
Of stagnant fear, lonely smile.
No I am not trying to hide my tears,
Tears I know not…
But a sweaty fear
Would often tickle the back of my ear,
Reminding me of the gesture
Of a beloved.
Yesterday when I woke up
In the middle of my sleeplessness
I felt the chill again,
But that didn’t take away the smile
You always wished to see,
That couldn’t make me someone
Other than me.
And thus when the morning showed
I smiled, the smile I flaunt
With all my vacant pride.
But an intense thirst
Suffocates the heart.
How I wish the winter rains would come.
How I wish I don’t have to let in the sun.
My darkened heart just need no rays,
Darkness soothes me, suits me the best.
No, not your fault, but
The fate I accuse.
Feeling complete for a while
Being your muse.
What can I wish for
But a smile to see
In the lips I so wish to kiss,
The poet who gladdened this
Heart trapped in me!!!
It does hurt but little
When I wear on the smile,
Tears I gave away, coz'
A glimpse of it might just
Break your heart this while!

The Anonymous Anticipations of My Heart!

Scribbling down my anonymous anticipations…
A moonless sky, lit up with aching hopes
The alleys of my hopeless heart…a step or two
Would it take to cross the limitless boundaries…
But here I wake up before another midnight could pass,
Into a world where they want me to act like them.

Tomorrow I might just go out for a walk,
Aimless but the streets of remembrance…
Endless but the streets of remembrance…
I wake up from the sleeplessness, that’s
Hugging me as if I am her lost child…
Trust me! Her womb is not the one I remember.
My origin was rather more enthusiastic,
A dancer’s daughter a dancer would be,
They said. The womb I remember was
At-least, not this claustrophobic.
Alas! Do I look like me these days???

Superfluous words won’t make poetry, so the
Simple ones I choose….but hey! I am no poet!
Neither do I intend to create one of me…I am just me!
Tucked in, trapped inside my own anonymous anticipations.

life is but!

Life is but a steady confusion...
Thrashes, then thud fall into reality!
Reality i dont know, but some thing in motion...
Broken tries to un-break!!!What audacity!!! ;)

Just another note....

Her room---6:30 pm. sometime late of October, year …….
As the eyes opened breaking through the untimely sleepiness…she couldn’t appreciate the darkness that dawned in with the dusk that evening. Instantly the left hand nearing the bed side switch board stretches itself and on goes the light…aaah!!! A gush of pain, something achingly bright hits and then rushes into the eye surface perforating the upper layer until it touches the bottom, the very unknown bottom…some place that she has never been to herself but was aware of its existence …and all of these in the stroke of less than fraction of a second. And the pain that accompanied, was so mild yet so existent that it’s cowardice to mention and even harder a task to describe. The pair in the same set of eyes that appreciates art and painting…struck by the unbearable brightness of the moment…the eyes so used to see through the dark.
Instinctively the light goes off…on…off and on again, until they surrender to the mildly existing pain of reality. Head as heavy as an ill-practiced drunkard, the reluctant body lifts itself and hazardously makes it to travel to the wash basin at the corner of the washroom some 7 and a half steps away…flush !flush! flush! Goes the cool water cruelly, to wipe away the trance like state…
Seated at the corner of the bed, she tries to figure out in which part of the world she is so stuck in. 3.01 seconds and she identifies the room. The same room that gave her luxurious rests after a hectic day out, the same room that gave her solace enough to compose poetry, to spend modest hours with her treasured books, taking her by the heart to their respective worlds of unknown…the same room whose darkened night hours have known her like no one else, her secret aspirations, dreams and heart breaks, tears that have with all their rich pride transformed and then flaunted to be gorgeous smiles, that so many people got addicted to… just the next morn.
The room now burdened with darkness and secrets and memories……
She takes a paper and a pen to jot down the words banging the door to let open and out so the heaviness of the heart in the head be reduced. The pen decides not to move an inch in all it’s lazed out fatigue…heart breaking, the look of the deprived paper.
A machine with a screen, with some alphabetical switches, in front of the screen…the aspired handwritten notes now reduced to…abstract ideas, untouchable words, with its lifeless perfection on the pages of the MS word pad.
The only movement seems to be the rotating ceiling fan that moves on and on tirelessly, hopelessly failing to remove or evaporate the sticky sweat disturbingly tickling the back of her neck. There is a chill in the air that’s running down her veins…an invisible chill.
A paper wheel dangling out from the book shelf moves on more or less constantly with the rhythmic interference of the ill-equipped ceiling fan’s breeze--that is not of enough use in removing the sweat from the back of her neck. The paper wheel she had bought from the fair last season made her feel like the joy of an innocent child from within. How thankful she is of the presence of the life less colorful paper wheel whose movement seems more lifelike sharing the burden of living on with its frequent movement.
In less than a month winter will arrive…winter her favorite season.
In less than a month the paper wheel made of colored papers will stop its movement as the ceiling fan would go inactive for as long as the chill would remain. Sad how she would have to carry on with the responsibility of living all alone in that room of her burdened memories, broken heart and brightened darkness…
“I think I will buy her a wind chime this Christmas.”

CLUE...

"the desperate search for a long lost table spoon, rolling papers, box cards and eyesight!"-- by CHENOY

By ME- CLUE...

The table spoon must have got stuck inside the honey bin, the last time you had honey,
remember how heavy it felt...when u tried pulling it out? and then u left it right there...
u neva leave things that way and thats why u forgot and later on, u thought its lost...
but let it be right there for some while more, trust me the spoon likes this sweet new existance in her sweet new home. :P


The rolling papers rolled towards the verranda i believe...being just a bunch of rolling papers,it was feeling entrapped amongst the other set of papers so intellectually equipped...last time the door bangged open when u left it unleashed ...it crawled out from beside your bed side book shelf rolling all the way towards the veranda... it desperately needed to breathe a bit of fresh air...let it remain...


The box cards...u didnt lose them...u gave away last summer, when the lil girl, the daughter of your maid found it amusing...it was just simply box cards...she cried to have them. U gave away more coz her cry was distracting u at ur work. Without the intention, u did a good job, coz the little girl smiled.


and the eyesight, its right there resting behind those shades...those brilliant expressive sight of yours...let them free, coz no matter what the Doctors and experts say...the world does look better and brighter when the glasses are removed and no Ray Ban or Flexon can make it better compared to what you see with the naked eyes...(even for the ones who have got the real "lack-of-clear-eye-sight-syndrome" :P)...


I hope i could help you with a clue or two... Happy Searching!!! :)

.............

Keu valobasha bechchche horek ronge...
Keu kinche setai mutho khanek daame
Amar sada kalo mon ta nie tai
Ami ronger khojei tomar kaache jai...
Tomar ronger tuli, klanto lage taan...
Taar shorir jure hajaar premer snaan...
Tar ektu nahoy amar choyan khani,
R sapno seshe abaar hoyraani.
Sukh na jodi ashukh e hoi tobe,
Amar sada kalor majhei atka robe...
R shob haranor por e kobita khani...
Bol valobasha r kivabe kini??

Awaiting the Darkest!

I

I wake up to the dark clouds…and say damn! Where is the darkest one?
I go off to sleep only to wake up to the darker shade…aahhh!! I guess
I like it better!
The darkest of them all whom I crave to meet…
Is still missing…the rude and dark and the one that
Welcomes thunder!
I am scared of the thunder!

And often I walk out of my door to that aimless street
I see every day when I wake up…
That aimless street that leads to some same old places…
Some same old faces…the faces with selfish frowns…
The ones that criticize my walk-talk and laughter…
Precisely, the street that leads to nowhere…

I wake up a day and I wish to see the darkest of the clouds…
The one still missing!

You may call me a sadist…a masochist…a pessimist!
I love the darkest cloud and I have my reasons…

II

And when the air touches my face…
I feel the kiss of my loved one on my cheeks…
My forehead and all over my face!
Ahh! The playful air whispers my name…
I believe it wants to say more…some message from the one
So far away…and tickles my neck and caresses my arms…
And right then a Bang! And another!
I wake up! I find the door that had been left un-leashed is fierce
Banging itself to the edges! Fierce not the un-leashed door…but…
Its fierce outside…the storm…a tree tears apart from its root..aah!
What a pain!

I am scared of the storm as much as I am comfortable with the soft breeze that
Kisses and touches my face…
But I wonder why I love the fierce storm!?!
That destructive thing that blows me away with each of his ‘in love’ gestures…
(May be coz I wait to be blown away to my “some place else”…away from this “nowhere”!)

He is insane…but I still walk out to embrace his insanity…
I can now feel his heart beat in the rhythm of my heart
…thud thud! thud thud! It goes on…
And I find his heart as much scared as my heart is…
And I find a ‘me’ so fragile is the reason????Mad????
He is scared of the love in him…his strength...he is scared he would blow so hard someday, and end up breaking me…huh…

III

How to let him know that I don’t fear being broken!
How to let him know it won’t be too easy a thing to break a broken thing!
How to let him know that in my heart I know that the comfortable breeze is but a gentler form of him…
That yet I appreciate his fierceness more than the gentle him…coz there remains huge self control…and this out of control fierce self of him is more real…and this heart loves the real him!
I have seen his naked heart! I have seen his naked heart…
Have seen the bloody blood…the fierce bloody blood…pump in and pump out of them…that seeks freedom…boundlessness! He have been loved in all his gentleness and criticized in his realness …when he couldn’t pretend anymore…
I have seen the aches when he tried and stretched out his hand to hold on to love and ended up shattering its existence because of his own fierce self! Until he ended up claustrophobic in pretention…
Oh! I see him surprised! Staring at me…undecided…dangling in between his pretentious self and the real one…
Oh! He is surprised to see a ‘fragile’ me scared and not…standing in front of the storm that has penetrated his soul long long ago…the storm that has become the Him in him!
Oh! I think I scared him again!

IV

I have seen many of the dark clouds…but the darkest one I crave to see is still missing!
No I believe I am not a sadist…a masochist…a pessimist!
They say “every dark cloud has a silver lining”…I believe…and I have seen the silver linings proving them correct!
But I am in search of my darkest cloud! I believe it would appear some day.
I believe I would have to wait a little longer…until it appears…until my ‘fierce love’ realizes how fearless I can be in love!
Until my ‘darkest cloud’ brings in with it, its ‘silver lining’!
The “brightest silver lining” from the darkest cloud!
For my darkened soul!
Ahh! I am waiting!

Diving In...

She had never been out there in that wild world
Never been in the garden of oysters and pearl.
Even floating in the waters of Andaman
Tried but couldn’t touch the living corals by the hand


She collected a few but they were dead...
And dead but beauty, tucked within the sandy bed
She carried them back home with love and care
But to dive in deeper and touch them alive…she didn’t dare...


And she wakes up in the middle of the life...
She wants to shout fearless n make a deep dive...
A bit of a chance to herself, she wants to give...
For the first time in a long while...she wants to LIVE....

ECSTASY

Late but it’s never late. I thought the ‘times’ are over, indeed they are…but then, it is over until new times are born. In a different way, a different shape, often unrecognizable. The innocence gone, rather murdered by the self. The heart broken, but not unlovable; non fixable but not non gatherable; the cracks visible, the thing often grotesque in shape, but sticking together just to prove it’s not over, not yet.
The rain doesn’t mean ‘romantic’ anymore, but a soothing touch of some long forgotten little girl’s fantasy. The chill in the cheeks standing at the door of a fast moving local train, in a lonesome winter ‘s evening is not ‘masochism’ but a feel…sipping in another trait of this vulnerable-adorable-dynamic life. Dreams, not to be true, but yet to be viewed, with eyes open or closed. Holding on to life though every moment is but a step nearing the death. Inevitability not to be feared, but holding on to the volatile spirit of life.
I don’t know what I speak, but I speak. I don’t know how far the love would take us, but I love. Don’t know life’s intentions, never knew, never understood when it played its nasty pranks…but life I held on to, I still do. The trust I showered on ‘life’ brought back certain dry droplets of dew I had longed for, for so long…longed and longed - until forgotten…but it’s here again, knocking at the door behind the lashes.
There is a difference between fun and happiness. Fun is good but momentary. Happiness, a good feeling that lingers in the heart for a longer while, but a fragile heart if it be, it might just get evaporated in the blink of an eye. And there is ECSTASY. A feel, indefinably pure…surprisingly precious…a feel unparalleled… a long walk in the dark…a holding hand… a first kiss… a shy look penetrating the heart… ecstasy !ecstasy! ecstasy! I shout in my silence…a love in my heart- HEART- that thing in bad shape-but not dead…a life crawling towards the death…till then lets LIVE, for life’s sake.

Pagol...

Ektu pagol rodher kona, amar lekhar gaye..
Ektu shisir, pagol sheo, amar paye paye.
Hothat pagol hawar dapot urie nilo mon..
Elomelor majhei khuje pelum apon jon.

Brishtir ak pagol chite, garom chaaer vaanre..
Pakhir daker mon kamon ra pagol bon badare.
Shapno majhe pelum j tor pagol chokher chawa..
Bhaancha morar neshar majhe, hothat toke pawa.

Raater pagol andhokar ta kamon chena chena
Shapno vangar pagol byatha jaena to r kena.
Tao j pagol paglamita matie rakhe mon
pagol shaje baul she j, amar pagol jon.

Priyo Bondhu..

Hothat kothao harie jawa,
Andhakare bhoy na pawa

Dukhkho niye haansha haanshi
Mon kamoner thansha-thanshi

Kanna pele lukochuri
Haanshi manei barabari

Kobi gurur gaan k pawa
Gola chere baul gawa

Tor shongei chute chawa
Badol diner pagla hawa

Mone pore prothom dakha
Achena sei pother baanke?

Prothom prothom kobita lekha
Harie, moner manushta k

Tor jonno koto kotha
harie gie o fire elo

Bondhu tui boddo priyo
Andhakarer ektu alo.

I lie no more..

I feel no pain
No ecstasy
I stroll no more
In fantasy
Breaks not my heart
Dreams I don't see
I lie no more
Bout you and me.

I lie no more
Bout me or you
I treasure our days
Our days but few...
The heart not aches
And heart not breaks
A walk...bare feet
Thorns wet with dew.

And it might bleed
A little while
When I flaunt on
A bleeding smile
Numb, loveless heart
You would never see
I lie no more
Bout you and me.

And little fairy tales
I don't adore
Tentative foot prints
I leave ashore
And numb-liness,in
That heart I bore
Bout you, to me
I lie no more.

An Exaggerated Note:

The exaggerated ‘night hours’ would darken its shade with every passing moment and often give a ‘never gonna end’ feeling…its not that I do not appreciate darkness, but then I doubt if it’s healthy.

The exaggerated ‘dawn’ would dawn in so early that a feeling of being deprived of good sleep would disturbingly linger in my mind for hours.

The exaggerated ‘smile’ I would flaunt would readily be like the waterproof- dustproof make-up that I never wear, to effectively cover up the wrinkles of emotions that I feel you must never see. Trust me you may even possibly fall in love with that smile. But you better not. Those intense smiles are pretty deceptive.

The exaggerated ‘eyes’ that you may never get to see in its nakedness have decided not to let you know what it could reflect otherwise.

The exaggerated ‘other sense organs’ would actively and sensibly go ‘numb’ when you would try your best to reach out- with amusing or abusive gestures. Believe me; what you would deliver (good or bad) would mostly go unheard-unreciprocated.

The exaggerated ‘long forgotten love’ would somehow disturbingly manage to pop up and peep inside the mind and deliver fragments of creation that might be or might not be jotted down in words, thus losing its fragmented existence…never to be remembered again.

The exaggerated ‘sweet dreams’ would always offer heartaches, more intense and scary than any nightmare would ever have the potential to offer.

The exaggerated ‘will power’ would force me to forget you by reminding me- ‘you’ are the one to be forgotten.

The exaggerated ‘heart beat’ that had been determined never to beat for the certain ‘you’ ever again, would arrogantly start beating harder, with may be just a glimpse of your smile, or just a passing by through your path.

The exaggerated ‘heart’ would break again by just remembering some not-to-be-remembered good days…as if ‘breaking’ is its most desired passion. Do trust me; I still do not understand this stupid heart’s story.

The exaggerated ‘pain’ in that heart would be so effective a cure to the other physical pains…coz’ when the two be compared, the heartaches would always win over.

The exaggerated ‘life’ would never wait a while to give rest to the respiratory organ, no matter how desperately you wish or plead it to make a halt.

The ‘exaggerated note’ would have never stopped from developing, if the watch didn’t show its time to go home.

Atota poth chole...

Prem to thake prem thakbe bole,
Mon ta na hoy vangbe barong bar-
Mon j ki chae, mon o bojhe na re,
Valobashao dae na tar uttor.
Tai bole to mon o premer juti
Samay samay maan ovimaan khala;
Prem ache tai jorie newa shaja,
Prem ke abar aankre dhore baancha.
Boshontou furie jokhon ashe,
Shada kalor aanka aase paase
Valobasha jalie rakhe agun,
Porone tar bishorjoner mala.

Atota poth chole tahar sathe
Bujhlona mon premer pagol khala.

In Random Rhythemlessness

In extreme hurry, she tried to scribble down whatever was jamming her thoughts. Some feelings in broken phrases, or phases conveying broken feelings. Not sure. But definitely not just "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings"...then they would have been rhythemless – unorganized, but atleast not without clarity in the meaning. But what was happening now was too random, fast…very fast, and intensely volatile in nature, giving almost a grotesque look to the hazy view. She tried to remember when was the last time she had dreamt a happy dream…or composed poetry intensely fed with colors. She could only remember ‘numbness’ as long as her senses could afford to feel. People often speak of heartbreaks. She deliberately tried to find reasons, to fit in the list. She failed. Extremely doubtful, she put her hand on her chest…felt a thud and then another, and another again, being divided by similar intervals. She remembered people calling it to be ‘heart beats’. But she could only describe it to be a phenomenon that has to go on and on, and for how long- she has no idea. The ‘painlessness’ that has perforated her youthfulness, felt heavier than any heartbreak that anyone could imagine. How she longed for a life of ‘Veronika’, who did decide to die and fail in her approaches to give up and just found out the meaning of life in her decision to die. She is not brave enough to end it all. But they say to hold on to life needs more courage. She is not sure if she can call herself courageous. Whatever was happening was against her will, this was somewhere not her plan…but then what was her plan?? Her dreams…she doesn’t even remember. In fragments they come and go…the dreams that had been sweet, once upon a time…the happenings- pleasant or not- that had surprised her, reorganized then disorganized her entire perspective of holding on…in fragments they show up with the blurriness…rudely grotesque…unloved – disowned. She puts her pen down. Not the love for life, not even hatred…she only remains suspended to her own volatile state of remaining, with the phenomenon of thud in regular intervals within her chest and the breath of air- way in and way out.