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3 years ago
Mar 12, 2012
Incandescent Dichotomy
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 5:45 PM
This one's a little long. We were on our way back from camps and at the train station, I looked up to the sky to the sight shown below. For a strange moment, it triggered a lot of suppressed emotions that I've explored in this poem.
A radiating lamp in the night sky,
It watched over us like a mother
And year after year, we've watched
The dark of the night it tried to smother.
I saw the moon as an open book,
Blackened with dust and age,
Pages yellowed by the tinge of memories
Of billions of people filled with rage.
It watched the wars, the world's plight,
And comforted dying soldiers at night;
It watched the theories of science evolve
As the face of our planet continued to revolve.
There was a time when it saw
The face of Cleopatra smiling at its white body,
A time when it scanned the face of the dying children
In the Holocaust, shielded from everybody;
An era when it saw Cro-Magnon man
Transform to homo sapiens with time,
Those millennia when the dinosaurs died
It saw their plight with amusement sublime.
A silent spectator, a selfish celestial entity,
It stood silent as the world changed for the worse
It watched us rob Mother Nature of her wealth
None of which can we ever reimburse.
It's hands are spattered with the screams of the dead,
The triumphant roars of the winners
And the indifferent sighs of the crowd
Most composed of ardent sinners.
Historians with humped backs and grey hair
Devote lifetimes to analysis of text,
But if only they looked at the moon
They would see the history of our people there.
Murderers, thieves, dictators beware--
The moon's eyes have watched you all along.
And though, like a God, it might simply sit back and stare
It saw you as you subjected your society to wrong.
But beggars, well-wishers, do-gooders in all right
The moon watched you suffer and cry
But to save you from your undeserving plight
It did not even try.
------
It was 4 o'clock in the evening and the sky was red
The sun a jewel hanging low in the expanse of colour overhead
But when I looked back, a dense, dark blanket muffled all colour
The night sky stank of the evil and the dead.
Clouds flew with the wind and white bathed the sky,
The light of the moon brought comfort to human life
And for an instant when I watched it intently
I could see the history of man - the triumphs and the strife.
An open book, an incandescent dichotomy,
Once a child's object of fascination
I saw you as a treasured permanence of my life
But now you seem so dark, evoking an eerie sensation.
Watch me as I make my history,
And my progress as you marked our pathbreakers'.
Laugh at my degeneration,
And ignore my desperation.
Feb 25, 2012
Why Do All Good Things Come to an End?
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:13 PM
Young to old,
Cherished to sold,
Logs of wood to fire,
Satisfaction to desire,
Lovers to friends,
New beginnings to new ends,
Happiness to sorrow,
Today to tomorrow.
This endless loop, this shattering blow,
This fluorescent desire that seems to glow;
This urge for happiness, crushed with passion
Brutally demolished in such a cruel fashion
Your eyes are open to this decrepit sight;
You can't win against it, not even can you fight.
Plagued by laughter, by the nuances of friendship
By the thought of those you were joint to by hip,
By the grass green and the sun pale yellow,
By the cool mountain wind that carries your bellow,
By cherished memories that fade to grey
By opportunities that walk away.
A sitting duck --- in limbo, stuck,
Running out of veritable luck,
Holding back tears that threaten to descend,
For all good things will come to an end.
Sep 18, 2011
Bittersweet Treat
2 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:21 AM
I pretend it's you--
This slowly sinking sugar cube
Drowning in the endless depth of steaming coffee,
Crying frantically for my help,
Disintegrating as it drowsily melts,
Overcome by the stormy heat.
I'll be neglecting you. Like you neglected me.
How unfair that I should be so cruel--
To something so inanimate
When the real culprit is you!
The grains of sugar have arranged themselves
To resemble your face; the signature smile
Is now a frown, because I have stabbed you with a spoon
And put a veil of foam where your eyes should be.
I stir; you're disappearing into a whirlpool of heat and bitterness
Never to emerge again. And I won't bid adieu.
You've sweetened my chasm of bitter despair,
You're the taste it needs to be deemed complete.
The Pits of Tartarus now seal themselves,
Having claimed their last bastard.
The collection is done.
Sadistic pleasure (or is it relief?)
Pulls back my lips in a teeth-baring grin,
All I need is laughter, as the remainder of you melts
And disappears. Never to be seen again.
So I drink heartily my bittersweet treat,
Swallowing down sweet memories
That have morphed into a noxious mass of gelatinous nothingness.
Time changes everything.
A friend of mine (SB) took the liberty to write a reply to this poem, by continuing the analogy, not exactly from the point of view of the persona this poem was addressing, but as an active bystander who empathized.
REPLY
Today. Just today.
I feel like that sinking sugar cube.
That slowly dissolves into the bitter coffee.
I do not call for help .just for acknowledgement.
The heavy liquid slowly pulls me down.
I never neglected you.
I just tried to add to the flavour and make,
What I call a perfect blend.
I cannot promise a rainbow,
But try to be the ray of hope.
To a monochromatic life.
I want to let you know that I am brown sugar.
Different from the rest.
My eyes do turn dark.
My smile slowly turns into a frown, not because of the pain
But because the stab is coming from you
Your oh so saturated brew was somehow incomplete.
I was just trying to fill in the gap.
And I drown.
Voluntarily.
Not wanting to fight the whirlpool.
I might never emerge again,
But my essence will always flavour the pleasantries.
Now that the deed is complete,
I succumb to the bitterness.
And let go into the Pits of Tartarus.
Being the last of the lot.
I needed the feeling of being felt.
Your grin. It’s devilish.
It tears through what’s left of me.
Your living is craziness personified.
As you sip down the coffee looking through the remnants of me,
Soon to be nothing: I somehow feel I am still there.
The memories being the last of me.
I knew.
I was no one.
After all I wasn’t the coffee bean.
Time changes everything. I wish it changes us.
Dec 29, 2010
Buried alive,
Under the embodiments of my life
Scattered onto haphazard paper
A sheet cuts into me, as sharp as a knife;
Stemming the flow of ruby-red blood
With a cruel glance at the thin gash
Profanities arrange themselves on my lips
As I search for the sheet, amongst the stack.
Buried alive,
With edges that glint with sadistic happiness
Is the artwork of a past much forgotten,
A photograph, the reason for my curt snappiness;
But pain momentarily forgotten,
Running time-beaten fingers over the colours
That paint the youth of a pleasurable past,
A past full of summers, perusing bestsellers.
Buried alive,
Is irony. For under the plethora of age,
Is a time machine imprinted on paper
A photograph, a Past that paper does en-cage.
And as a flood of memories take me back
To when our minds were innocent, when love was pure,
The blood oozes vehemently from the papercut
Oh and I felt something peculiar, of that I'm sure.
For a moment, it's as if the cut is punishment
A punishment well deserved,
A mockery of the strange, shapeless mass life becomes
As age and life fuse to appear absurd.
If the surface of the photograph were magical,
What wouldn't I give to dive into it,
And appear, suddenly, in the world it depicts
And escape this existence that degrades bit by bit.
Buried alive are the memories
We wish we could personify.
Buried alive is a life
Full of mistakes we wish to rectify.
;;
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