Thursday, December 30, 2010

Goodbye 2010

On this final chapter of 2010, there is no end, the unfinished story flips over to the next year, tweaked a little, with more new characters, murdering the unfulfilled desires and dreams, creating enough space for protogonist to edit her phrases to weave a new world

Monday, December 27, 2010

Sunset


The sun walks away
Quietly behind the hills 
Shedding off its pink trail
On the belly of the sky
Reflection on waters bid shy goodbye
As the night falls.

Once again it will back at twilight,
Newer dreams will float on fragile minds,
Some will bloom colorfully when realized
While others will sink and never materialize.

Life goes on like it always has,
With every sunset,
There is a newer sunrise.

Pretty Sparrow


A tiny plump sparrow sits closer to my feet

Fearless, shrugs her feathers, enjoying the crisp cold breeze

Unmindful of my moods that swings from hot to cold

She chirps away my blues, with her stories not yet told.

Thursday, December 23, 2010


Dashing through traffic jam

On crazy Mumbai roads
With one sharp-edged mood
Santa sees the tempers glow
He tries to keep his cool
Don't want to spoil his day
But too much on Mumbai roads
Is testing his red-hooded brains

Auto-rickshaws here and there
Breaking all traffic rules
Gives him continuous jitters
As they rattle down the roads
He holds on to his goody bags
And hums softly some prayers
Hoping he will survive
Without a broken bone

Mingled roads
Jumbled roads
Oh it’s such a pain
Its no fun
Travelling is better
If he went by local train

Yeah!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Living in bliss

Photograph was taken by Jack Huber in a vacant campground in the Ouachita Mountains in Western Arkansas
and I was inspired to write

At peace, under the bosom of leaves and trees,
so very still, you live in bliss,
until a hunter robs you of your freedom
and shreds you up for a delicious meal.

Copyright © 2010 by Pushpa Moorjani

This is my 6th win in this ongoing contest which will end on Thanks Giving Day. We write a single quatrain inspired by the photo. A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

Winning entries are posted at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm.

I won this contest as a runner-up'
The winner was Diane T who wrote a quatrain inspired by this picture
she wrote: Gentle Denizens

The verdant forest waits in hush,
its ceiling a cathedral of dappled shade,
and in the peaceful quiet
the gentle denizens graze in grace.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden

Friday, November 12, 2010

The girl with the dragon tattoo

The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes! I see her often online
Chirping away on her face-book status
Telling me what’s on her mind

Every outrageous chat she makes
While speaking out her dormant lines
There is hurricane of spiteful abuses
Clouding her freedom and her rights

Clever thoughts, untold secrets
She swirls them into the path of crime
Cynics chop her words to pieces
And subject her to cruel trials

Should she seal her choral lips
And silently watch the world pass by
Or should she make a marked difference
By changing rhythm, rhyme and the chime

The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes, she was the one I saw online
The world helplessly watched her disappear
As she faded away sans light

There is no moment for truth
Fanatics broke her sturdy pride



My entry for Big Tent Poetry Circus where we had to choose a title of one book, and use it as a line for our poem from the list of Best Sellers, and I chose THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, by Stieg Larsson

Monday, November 08, 2010

Broken Man

Yes! You were always right
That’s what I wanted you to believe
Although I knew the truth
But were afraid to hurt you so
Saying yes was easy

What did it cost me?
My ego still intact, my spirit unflawed
The power of love was strong
Happiness would lose its charm
Had I proved you wrong

Turning pages of memories,
Under a soft light, in my mind
Refreshes those days of wrinkled frown
When I had let you win
And you were sure, you had wronged.

I should have told you the bitter truth
Guided you on a beaten path
Your health would not betray me thus
Longer I would have you by my side
Alas! I rock with a broken leg

Cross posted at November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 8, for today's prompt, on 'Write an agreement poem'.

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Wake up Baby

I touched his soft wet cheeks

Prompting him to wake up
It was time for his next feed
Just a little, he opened his eyes
Like a bored cub in a Nirvana pose
Dimpled chubby arms, stretching
High above his baldy head
His body stiffened, but for a moment
Then relaxed
He had not finished his sleep as yet.

This is my entry for the prompt at 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 2

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

City of dreams

This was my entry for contest #15 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city



Image (c) Jack Huber
High rise goals pierce the frozen sky
To my city of dreams, I behold
With a heart of gold, strong and stiff
Off shores, I melt my fears of the unknown.

Winner was Diane Stephenson on her quatrain called ‘Faith’

The pinnacle of faith rises high,
Points to a cloudless sky
Where dreams are formed
And lives transformed.
© 2010 by Diane Stephenson

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden on her quatrain ‘Spires’

Spires reaching to the sky
Teaching us of man’s desire
To become more than himself
Remembrances of lives gone by.
© 2010 by Diane Tegarden



Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Limericks-Geelani-Roy

They shared the Nobel Prize, which was no fake
They had earned it good for what they spake
They walked across the LOC
To discuss more problems of birds and bees
Now Roy and Geelani swim in milky shake

Inspired to write this limerick after reading the news on TOI

Geelani, Arundhati to be booked under sedition charge

Friday, October 22, 2010

He is Complicated

He will tell you sterner tales
to hide his softer side
then with most expensive gift,
he will surprise
to compromise his rougher
Tones
He is complicated

One moment he is singing
Then suddenly, a bad curse
He is weighing your every word
With a suspicious shaky verse
until you are bitterly
Stoned
He is complicated

You have spend all day grooming
To celebrate a memorable day
Playfully he praises you
with succulent and tangy words
Then suddenly, cornered into a tighter
Zone
He is complicated

To be or not to be
What you see do not believe
He is complicated

Inspired by Raamesh's poem : She is complicated

Monday, October 18, 2010

Bored Autumn

This was my entry for contest #14 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city


Bored, the Autumn undressed the lone tree
In a concrete jungle of high rise steel
For vibrant birds, it looked within the leaves, but
Barren was the city, chirping silenced on those streets
Copyright © 2010 by Pushpee


However the winner entry was by Deborah Walker
Displaced

In the dingy gray of the big city’s bustle
Stands a country boy, stripped and displaced,
Arbitrary among the structured,
Reflective of the dreams he’s chased.
Copyright © 2010 by Deborah Walker

And the runner-up was Diane Stephenson
Sombre city

Sombre city skies, swirling, sigh;
Men, monstrous monuments making--
Cruel concrete cages--call, complain, cry,
Fevered, fearful, facing failure, freedom faking.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Stephenson

Monday, October 11, 2010

Lucky again –The fifth time…

Won the poetry contest again! Yay!!!

Twice monthly, a photo is posted on the Facebook forum, "Wordmeisters, Poets and Writers Unite!" Members then compose a quatrain, or 4-line poem, inspired by the photograph. Quatrains are judged on creativity, poignancy, format (if applicable) and content. A most interesting take on the photo will also score well.

In the contest no #13 this picture was posted

This photograph was taken in beautiful downtown Lincoln, Nebraska by Jack Huber.

And my winning entry was

The Bridge


Together, you and I had walked on that bridge,
Crossing over the lakes and beaten paths beneath;
The dancing stars in the scorching noon we found,
Under the belly of sky, many such eternal joys.

Runner-up was by Ayub Bangroo

Bridge the Gap

Moving steadily on life`s highway
to bridge the gap so vast,
some have crossed and some away,
an endless run, there to last.

Winning entry can also be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Creative Mind (Form-Double Etheree)

Day
Like this
When I try
To create pun
Verse Special for me
But fail because my mind
Is occupied by stray thoughts
That block my mind against real things
Random happenings of day events
Cloud my judgment by crippling me all day

I walk for fresh air up to the window
Draw curtains a bit to look outdoors
Staring still at blooming flowers
Tensions melt and leave my side
Free at last from stiff nerves
Fresh moods cloud the frowns
Happiness reigns
Once more I
Feel some
Joy

The poetic form, "etheree," uses syllable count rather than meter and is unrhymed. It is named for its creator, a poet named Etheree Taylor Armstrong.


The basic etheree form has ten lines, the first consisting of exactly one syllable, the second line of two syllables, and so on until the last line's ten syllables. An etheree can also be reversed, starting with ten syllables and ending with one.

A "double etheree" combines the two, so is twenty lines, starting with one syllable, counting up to ten. Line eleven also has ten syllables and each line thereafter reduces by one until line twenty's single syllable.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

One Dark Stormy Night (Fiction)

It was dark and stormy night. Tejal and Salina emerged from the cinema hall after the late night show.

“Let’s wait till the rain stops”, said Salina.

Tejal looked at her watch, “Its 10:30pm, it is getting late. Hubby will be home by 11pm, listen, I have an umbrella, we both can share. If we wait longer it might get too late. We shouldn't have come for this late night show.” She said.

“Oh! Never mind; it was fun na?” said Salina as she squeezed closer to her friend under the umbrella.

The strong wind blew against their faces and it was getting difficult to hold the umbrella. They walked slowly on the side of the road. Both of them clung tightly to umbrella but were drenched from waist downwards. Luckily there were many more people returning home after a late night show.

“Only one more lane and we will reach home.” said Salina as they entered the lonely lane.

“Yeah! Not a good idea to go out on these rainy nights, the street lights have gone off too, it’s so dark. I am afraid, you know…” said Tejal

“Hahaaha! You are just being a coward.” Said Salina

Suddenly a huge, black car whizzed past them splashing the muddy water from the puddle wetting them head to toe.

“Hello, You idiot! What the hell!!” both of them shouted together.

The car screeched to a halt, reversed and stood next to them. A dark, fat man dressed in dark green cloak emerged from car.

“Get into the car.” he whispered, puffing the bad breath into their faces.

“Eeeww! Cough! Cough! Who are you? We don’t know you, why should we get into your car? Said Salina

“I said don’t argue with me, understand? Just get into the car or I shall slice you into small bitty bits.” he said extracting a shiny knife from his butt pocket.

“Take Salina with you, she is a single woman and has nobody waiting for her at home. I cannot go with you; my hubby will be home any minute now. Salina, go my dear, go with him, Who cares whether you reach home early or late? Try to understand, go” said Tejal

“Nopes! I am not going without you.” Protested Salina

“I said get into the car, both of you, or I shall kill you both” he said talking through his clenched teeth.

“But you have only one knife, and let me see if it is sharp enough to chop two women” said Salina trying to grab his hand.

“Being funny, huh?” he said, and poked her with the pointed tip just below her navel.

“Ouch! It hurts! Okay, you win. Come on Tejal, let’s go with him, maybe it's a short ride.”

As soon as they stepped into the car, there was a click of doors locking and the car picked up speed.

“He looks like our Sallu Baba na, look at his muscles.” whispered Tejal

“Yeah, maybe his cloak will tear and fly off his body if he shows some anger, like in the movie” laughed Salina.

"Uff! Oh!, his cloak is so loose, let me see if he is wearing a khadi shirt within"

"Shush, Shush!!" giggled Salina

Tejal fidgeted with the handles, turned them clockwise to lower the window pane.

“Al la loo ya! Aieya! Look Salina! Look, we are in the mid-air” screamed Tejal

“We are in the car, we are not in the airplane, silly”

“Arrey! Look! I am not joking. See that? There is water below, we are flying over the sea’”

“Hello, bhai saab, Sallu, can we call you Sallu? By the way, where are you taking us?”

“Shut up and sit quietly and let me concentrate on my driving” said the man

“But you are not driving, you are flying”

“Grrrrh! I said let me concentrate, my boss is expecting you.”

“Boss? You have a boss? Who is he?”

“You ask too many questions, why don’t you just relax and you will know it soon.” He said as he steered towards a small hill in the middle of water.

“Is this an island? Your boss lives here?” said Tejal as the car came to a halt in front of a huge castle.

“Get off the car” he roared.

Carefully they got off the car, it was still raining heavily and they were wet and cold. They walked towards the castle and knock on the huge iron door.

A bald old man in dhoti and cap, with a shawl draped over his shoulders opened the door.

“Wah! Wah! You brought two pretty young women for me today? Shahbaz putther, Welcome! Welcome” said the old man inviting them to walk in.

“Why are we brought here?” said Salina, stepping forward and resting her palms on her hips.

“Well! I am hungry, I asked him to get me one woman who will cook for me, but he has brought two women, that’s good! That’s very, very good!”

“But we will not cook for you” said Salina.

“You can just order food from Mc Donalds or from KFC. We normally order food from take-a-away outlet when we are tired and hungry and too lazy to cook” said Tejal.

“Hello! Can’t you see that this is an island and there are no restaurants here?”

“And what makes you think that we will cook for you?”

“Look ladies, you have no choice, either you cook for me or else I will chop you up and eat you raw.”

“You are not serious, are you? You can’t possibly eat a human, that too two pretty women, would you? They do something else to pretty women, we read in papers all the time and its never chopping them to eat. Nah! It's not appropriate, me thinks” said Salina

“Yes I do, when I am hungry I don’t care what I eat.”

Tejal started to shiver and held on to Salina’s hand

“Okay, we will cook for you” said Salina, “but first we need to wash ourselves, we are feeling very filthy, can we change our clothes before we cook for you?”

“Yeah, that’s like a good girl, there are fresh set of clothes in the bathroom, go wash and change while I defrost some fresh meat,”

Salina and Tejal held each other’s hands and slowly walked towards the bathroom, then turned to the other room, hastened their footsteps, walked towards the main door and started to run.

They ran faster, looked behind them and saw Shallu following them. They ran faster and faster, running on the soft grass, running towards the beach and were about to jump into the water when they both tripped and fell down on their knees.

“Ouch!”

“Mamma, what are you doing on the floor?”

“Ooooh! Phew! Just a bad dream, thank goodness!” said Tejal as she held her daughter closer to her and wept.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Greener Tones

Heart knows not the limitless boundaries
It spreads carelessly over the greener tones;
Its fragrance, extending to the distant homes,
Searches coyly for lovers’ zones.

      This photograph was taken in rural Nebraska near Lincoln by Jack Huber.

At the group called Wordmeisters, Poets and Writer-Unite on Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanks giving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

Mine was the runner-up entry, but the winner was A Picture Post Card


For your eyes, blue sky, green lawn
set for a colourful, breaking dawn;
water front, weather tower, cluster of cottages
all seem tied up as helpless hostages!

Copyright © 2010 by Manohar Bhatia

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Monday, September 13, 2010

September is 'Be Kind to Writers and Poets' month

You people are nice
and very kind, I must say
forgive me if I don't
come to read your post each day
but whenever I visit and
read this forum's page
I go back with the sweet words
of encouragement each day
lets not confuse kindness
with weakness this way
just an invisible smile
I am sending virtually across this day
See it!
Don't miss it!
Look!
It’s coming your way
Hope you remember me
in your prayers just for today
remember
I am your friend in every topsy-turvy way!!

Most of the forums at Ryze I enjoy to read, specially because they have a personal touch to it and the most favorite for me is at 'Wordmeister, Writer and Poets Unite' and they told me today that September is ‘Be kind to writers and poets month’ and September 12th being the National day of Encouragement, I wrote this to my friends on that forum

Thursday, September 09, 2010

City Blues - (Form - Sestina)

When she moved into my house she looked quite stupid
The way she walked, her head she always scratched
She would spend her time watching TV all day,
At night she would go club hopping in the big city
I had let her use my vacant cold attic
For which she paid me a handsome rent

Then one day she complained about the rent
Said it was much too high and stupid
To pay for a hole which was just an attic
She was disturbed by a cat who playfully scratched
On her window panes that overlooked the city
She had grabbed the cat and scared him one day

She argued with me and left in anger that day
Without paying out her six-month-overdue rent,
Went searching for accommodation in a new city
Unsuccessful, she checked into a hotel, how stupid!
Where mattresses were worn out, furniture all scratched
Soon she realized she was more comfortable in the attic

How does one compare a hotel room to an attic?
These thoughts niggled and troubled her mind all day
When suddenly she found a card and vigorously scratched
Hurrah! Figures that flashed were enough to pay the rent
But the lottery was fake and she felt so stupid
Once again she was homeless in the big strange city

It’s a lesson you learn when you live in a city
All flats have rooms that are smaller than an attic
Those who move out and migrate to new towns are stupid
When was it easy to find a good home in one day
That would be quite spacious and yet have lower rent
You may only find a house with walls fully scratched

Wasted much time, her budget was scratched
Life was getting difficult, she felt lost in the city
Returned back to my house and paid up the rent
Moved into the same ole vacant cold attic
I heard her make a promise to herself that day
Never would she complain about anything that was so stupid

I am happy with the rent, but her ego is scratched
She feels like a stupid soul lost in the city
Hiding in the attic on this warm summer day

This is my first attempt on F.O.R.M Sestina

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Aero Car

The Aero Car
The green hills welcomes the giant aero car
That swings like a cradle on a tight roped strings
“Ole! Ole!” whistles the sky, trees and the breeze
While the happy blue sea gurgles out its frothy squeals


There was a contest on writing quatrain verse by looking at the picture and this was my feeble attempt on the picture, although the winner was

Ayub Bangroo’s ‘We and Desires’

Desires keep us hanging around
no matter how deep the fall
sun, sky and soothing sound
let us not ignore the call.
Copyright © 2010 by Ayub Bangroo

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden's Getting from Here to There

Hanging above swift rapids
the daredevils whoop with joy
the poets envision dangerous delights
and the common man simply sees it as another crossing.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Your Non-Sensical Talks

The strict rules were made for you, not for me
Don’t bother showing me some sense in them, you see
Your sermons I flung them out of my window
They stank of old fashioned conservative ideas
Lets hope they don’t germinate like those that
Grew in Jack and Bean stalk tree
Imagine, if they did, the whole world would indulge
In senseless, useless talks
and you would be sorry for their misdeeds

This is written for Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.

• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.

And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Links at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com/2010/08/grandson-of-godawful-poetry-fortnight.html%20, the event host.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Queer August 2010

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Forthnight

August is bit queer-est month this year
Three days somersaulting five times, oh dear!
Five Sundays, five Mondays, five Tuesdays rolling
In one month occurring, was never so clear
Never heard that in last 823 years

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight - Common Wealth Games

Common Wealth Games


What good are these games if you don’t even dare
To make some money and with Janta to share?

What Joy to make fake certificates to stiffen some collars
With easy transfer of two billion dollars

What joy to travel in huge, fancy cars
Specially imported from London without any scars

What joy to clean the fair skinned bottom
With soft dainty paper during fifteen days short term

What joy to work without any legal contract
and see every expat on a seat that is cracked

Thank you for the beggars that you have sent to my town
At every signal in Mumbai, all are dressed in evening gown.



Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.

• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips

If it works for you, it should work for me
Can do anything, only if there is money
Money, money, money, I adore tips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

Love only if you have not been hurt before
Dance only when somebody you find to adore
Live like a king, if you are female then slips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

May you have lots of maids to work for you
May all your rich friends stand close by you
With thousands in your purse, everything clicks
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

Sun shines brightly only behind my panes
Rainbow sometimes peeps after heavy rains
When I am bored, on the net I tweets
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.


• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.


And he gets this signal honour for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquillity, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Friday, August 20, 2010

Rigid rules govern our life

Rules tie me down with strict chains of discipline

“Can do this”
“Cannot do that”
“What will people say”
“Behave yourself”
Endless sermons from tight lipped men

There are thoughts in process brewing in my brain
Raw unfulfilled desires flushed down the drain
You judge me at every speech and even when I am quiet
Truth unguarded, pretense is your pride

Unless

I am born different, then you sympathize
You are ready to adjust
For you cannot decide
All your rules bend
There is freedom for me
I will sit on the floor
While you stretch over to teach
You forget all your rules
You will adjust and say
“Be yourself!”
“It’s all right”
All that because
I am a special child

I have freedom to sit wherever I please
at my strange posture you are never displeased


You give me freedom to play with toys of my choice
I don't hear you whimper, You have a sweet voice


You allow me the freedom to choose my own best friend
Unknown to you are the vague society trends

You enter my world and understand my unique kingdom
Wait a minute..I speak thus under my Frames of Freedom

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Rains - (Form- Tanka)

Cooped into dark room
Afraid to walk on wet streets
One more day I rest
Rains slide playfully outside
Weaving slippery green grounds


(c) pushpee

Learnt about this form ‘Tanka’ from my friend Jack Huber

Originating in ancient Japan, a tanka (ton’- kah;) consisted of a haiku sent by mail or messenger and a two-line reply added to it for the returned message. Now tankas are composed in their final, familiar five-line format.

You may recall that haiku does not rhyme and consists of 17 syllables in three lines in a 5–7–5 format (five syllables in line one, seven in line two, then five again). A tanka adds two unrhymed lines of seven syllables each, for a total of 31 syllables. It can be in the 5-7-5-7-7 or in the two-stanza 5-7-5 ... 7-7 format.

Since they are short, titles of tankas may be taken from the poem’s first line or a key line, or are simply numbered, though naming poems is completely up to the author without specific rules.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Yay!!! I won the poetry contest again - the third time

On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanksgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

The first poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness

The second poem was Come Back Soon

This is the third poem which made it to final list.

Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.

(c) Jack Huber. This picture was taken in Kansas City

Hushed voices trapped behind colored frames
Crisscrossed, the thoughts rotate from side to side
Silence speaks under the pillars of courage
Whispering gently under its beams with joy

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

And the Runner-up: Anthea Burson
The Church of Adolescence

The sun shines through stained glass windows
At The Church of Adolescence
Exposing whispering children
Racing marbles down steel rails.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthea Burson

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Street Smart (55-ers)

She sat in the hot sun selling friendship bands. Hundreds of plastic alphabets spread before her. She knew that one could make words by stringing them together. I picked up letters to spell my name, she correctly calculated the total cost. While rich kids learnt their mathematics at school she learnt them all on streets.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

Goodbye




This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Final Goodbye

Just one pair of slippers, one set of robes
One picture of me with a smile adorned


A wee bit of cash, suffice for last rites
Await I in queue, at heavenly gates, outside


Time moves closer, the deeds must be right,
Finishing off my chores, keeping aches aside


Chains cannot break without a fight
Packing all your love, leaving hatred behind


Free from attachment, will hop to another world
Shall leave this strange world for another light


Final journey may end with a brisk good bye
Each moment now, a bonus day and night


Mourn not my death, it is but a waste
For I may never visit your obituary page


You may too wait behind, just don’t cut my line
There are no shortcuts, we all go when ripe.


But till we meet again in heaven or in hell
You may touch me a moment
Before a brief good bye

What’s on my mind:

Death is a reality, we should all be ready to go anytime. If we learn to live each day of our life as an extra bonus day, we learn to appreciate life. That is why it is important to keep our selves happy at all times because we live only once and every moment should be cherished.

Why do we feel so sad when the thought of going away from this world comes to our mind? Why are we afraid of death?

It is true that whenever we are in pain we want to end this pain. We want to be released from this pain journey, we lose our endurance and our tolerance. But when we see our near and dear ones, we change our minds. We don’t wish to go. We are terribly attached to this world. Attached not only to people but also to our things, to our materialistic possession even though we clearly know that we will take nothing with us, We don't need anything, but enough to last for one journey from this world to the next, only one pair of clothes to cover us and little money to bury us but still, we spend all our lives chasing the gold.

The main goal of our life is to find happiness and spread it. With happiness, we can add humor to our lives. That humor is the spirit that keeps us going. Those who don’t have sense of humor spend their life in self pity, becoming more and more miserable and in depression; all that one can think is the final goodbye….

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

What use is the poetry?

Of what use is the poetry
if it doesn’t stir the soul

The disturbing thoughts,
peeled off layer by layer
Find newer meanings
at its core

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

Random thoughts - Nature

If the Earth moved just to yawn a bit, utterly bored of human carelessness, we would get to see the nature's wrath.




Image source: google

Monday, August 02, 2010

Cannon

This fortnight Jack Huber posted this picture on the forum for us to write a poem.The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at a restored fort in the Domincan Replublic


I wrote a poem inspired by this picture


Exiled here and incredibly bored
Two canons stand silent, “Shoot!” I was told
There is no danger in sight, the sea calm and quiet
Sweet fragrance beckons, I feel swept towards home.

The winners of this round was: Khurshid Alam
Rescue Against Fire

In the vast blue umbrella, two holes of
fire poke threatening me to warm ‘gainst
the cold water. Luckily a shelter
I have at the other end of the hill.

and the Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Silent Cannons

Calm seas and blue skies
leave no memory of the ravages of war,
but silent cannons wait patiently
attesting to man's readiness to defend against invasion.

Sunday, August 01, 2010

An ode to my friends

Colors of friendship vivid and alive
Sparkle and shine with hues so bright

Lucky is soul who is blessed with a friend
True and loyal who will cling till the end

Through trough and crest and hardship of life, no
Matter what holds, true friendship has a smile

To sail in love through a long tiring day
In silence we hear what they meant to say

Like jigsaw puzzle they fit into slot
With one piece missing, feel completely lost

If a friend I find of such hues and shades,
Will pull down a rainbow and carve out their name

(c) Pushpee

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Come Back to Me (Form - Trilinea)

Come back to me

Your Memories
turn around to haunt me again
Rose, I miss you!

Thanks to Jack Huber for his tip on Trilinea.

Similar to haiku, the trilinea is three unrhymed lines, leading me to believe that haiku was its basis. Its syllable count is slightly different at 4-8-4, for a total of sixteen. One large caveat: the word "rose" must be placed within the poem.
Other than that, I can find no other requirements, so theme and title are at the poet's discretion, though including "rose" may dictate the subject somewhat. I have seen the word used as a color, a flower, an action and even a name, as well as the plural form, so evidently one can be creative with this rule.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Social Network (Form - Puente)

Ryze, Facebook, Twitter and other endless networks
Leave little time for my important monthly health checks
It’s when BP shoots high and eyes can’t focus on ground
The limbs seriously weak, my appetite is not sound
~I know I must sit down to relax~
Tired of walking for miles in search of butter and bread
I wish I could get a phone call from my closest friend
Who cooks delicious meals but nowadays doesn’t speak
I am practising to apologize without a flattery chat.

I am grateful to Jack Huber from whom I have learnt this form, called "Puente" means "bridge" in Spanish, and the so-named poetic form is built around one. This intriguing form was invented by poet James Rasmusson and described by ShadowPoetry.com.

Constructed in three stanzas, the first and third are separate thoughts, conditions or elements, but share an equal number of lines and the center "bridge" stanza. This middle stanza is but one line and is enclosed in tildes (~) to distinguish itself as both the last line of the first stanza and the first line of the last stanza.

The meter and rhyming are at the poet's discretion, free verse being perfectly acceptable. The title is has no guidelines; it need not match the bridge stanza like the example below.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Random Thoughts - Happiness

The purpose in our life is to be happy.
Happiness comes with success.
Successful are those who reach their goals
But the problem is that our goals are confusing..
That invites unhappiness..
That happily walks into our life...
Destroying the very purpose of our life.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Pulpo Paul - The Super star

Today early morning, Pulpo Paul walked through my door
Splash! Splash! The water dripped out from his eighty pores'
Green were the slimy creatures sliding behind him
Holding the eight flags that had made the world believe
That he was greater star much bigger than Tendulkar Sachin
Who often consulted a parrot before playing world cricket
Wiping his brow, Pulpo silently slid into my kitchen bucket
Started a primer of one month old football magic



For those who don't know what I am talking about.'Paul Pulpo' is the spanish word for 'Paul the octopus'.....

Paul the Oracle Octopus is clearly the biggest winner of the World Cup after recording a perfect prognostication record whether he knows it or not (he probably doesn't).

He performed eight picks, eight correct, eight tentacles and even predicted Spain as the winner of FIFA....and I was smitten by his prediction...know what I mean???

In India Cricket is the craze....hence the reference..parrot is the one to whom ppl go for horoscope sometimes....

this is the fun poem...which has the essense of color, animal, star and emotions...
Hope u enjoyed it..

Monday, July 12, 2010

Yay! I won the 'Poetry Contest' the second time.....

On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thankgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

The poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness

This is the second poem which made it to final list. Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.

Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber
The photo was taken at the Sonnenberg Mansion and Gardens in Central New York State.


Come Back Soon

Since nineteen eleven, behind mosaic so bright
Await I, with bouquet of fruits and flowers by my side
Come back soon while the flame still burns hot
Love in abundance craves for its first speck of light

(c) Pushpee

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Soooooo happy..heheee!!!

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Best friends are E-Pals if we let them be that....

Sometimes we get too close to our online friends that we don't want the magic to fade away.....

Online, we bare our soul, expressing our real feelings, taking for granted that we may never meet them personally.

We are ourselves with no pretence what-so-ever, not afraid of being rejected for our physical short comings.

Too short, too tall, ugly scars, scanty hair, too poor, low profile, too fat, stammering, limping, abusive family, bad habits, the list is endless and everybody has something missing, but all this is forgotten online because only words matter. Words are the only connection that we have and that is what builts up our relationships.

So, what if one day, our friend decides to meet us offline...??

The fear is profound...fear of losing our best friend. Fear of not finding any words to cement the friendship, of not going forwards beyond few words. It is true that if the friendship is deep and genuine, our friend may overlook our shortcoming but then one never knows....

I was inspired to write this poem, (and had posted it earlier on my blog some two years ago and now posting again after editiing it) It not necessary reflects my feelings alone...it can be written by anybody who has low self confidence.....and sometimes I am guilty too

I would love to meet you
But I am afraid
Of your rejection
Or your stares
Or your surprises
You might discover
When you see me
That
I do not qualify the
Image in your mind

It is not my fault
If you drew the picture of me
In your soul
Reading my thoughts
My opinions
My words
From your virtual sight

I never said
I am pretty
Rich
Influential
Nor did I ever
Discuss my age
You adored my rambling
My wit
My style
Imagining a God
With feminine delight

Darn! Why must I care
About your desires
Of seeing the skeleton of me
I truly cannot match
The fabric
Nor colours
Nor nirvana
Of your wayward mind

I want to be away from
Your binary wildest dreams
You sit at your own desk
And I will, at mine
We can still drink coffee
And chat online
We can carve out poetry
From my lines

But let me be me
My true bare soul
I cannot meet you,
This evening
Offline

Although, after reading this poem, what we feared will happen....
The friendship might fade away......Honesty is a bitter wine.

Thursday, July 01, 2010

Pain is back again

Pain comes again,
knocking on my toes,
Pulling my nerves
I pretend
I don't feel it,
I go about finishing off my chores,
pain waits
hiding behind my skin
till I relax to stretch my feet and
when it knows
I can ignore it no more,
squeals a wicked scream
moving closer to me,
wraps me with discomfort,
and I choke,
but keep a straight face,
too proud to admit
that I care.....

Pain pouts at losing
its one more game of oppression.

Friday, June 25, 2010

White Ants


I didn’t know how I could write
about the plight of a woman
whose FD’s got eaten
by bunch of white ants

She hid them away from the family members
burying it deep inside her wooden cupboard
Not checking for years,
smiling secretly about the travels
she would take when the FDs matured

And when the time came,
she looked deep into her cupboard
and found the white dust
Of FDs with numbers chewed away.

Did the white ants know
the value of money written on the paper?
Did they know it fetched a price?

It powdered the serial numbers in row,
chewing away the dreams of that poor woman

Ah! Someone please arrest that bunch of white ant!!

*FD - Fixed deposits
Inpired to write this poem after I read THIS

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Destiny

A picture posted on the Writer's forum for me to be inspired and write a poem

The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at Downtown Disney in Orlando, Florida by Jack Huber


My poem on this picture was

Was this the destiny or you chose to mold into stone?
Hearts that could not hold the moments of love
Crept under the sands of time, and now you stare
Hoping to re-ignite, so that once again you learn to care


Winning entry by Diane Stephenson
Phantasmagoria

In nightmarish dreams, with swollen tongue
I choke on words I cannot speak.
Demented faces swirl but can’t come close
once I awaken from this phantasmagoric world.

And runner-up: Khurshid Alam
Blessing Ceaselessly

Worship to the gods studded in the linoleum.
The sacred murals bless you: they stand guard
against all evils in life and light your ways;
the third eye awakens you to think beyond.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Dad, whom I never knew

At three, you walk away from my life
Abandoned, I leaned on uncles and cousins
Never learning the father’s love

You were not there to see me grow and bloom
They say that dads help in times of gloom
I looked for you in my momma’s love

How I wish you had cared for your health, then
And lived the life with utmost care
I too would have learnt of father’s love
And known what it is to be a papa’s girl.

(c) Pushpee

Friday, June 11, 2010

I am not a Bhopali

I am not a Bhopali
No, not just yet
At 25cents I cannot be that
Deformed body, fractured nose
Crumpled feature with an overdose
of chemical churned out with a flair
using unproven technology
what do you care?
you have nothing worthwhile
with me to share

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Security Hazards

Security was the important code
Neither knife nor bullet under her coat

“Nope” they said “We want no risk,
Just bones and skin, march brisk and frisk”

Said they would deliver at her place
Her dowry packed with ‘Hail Mary’ grace

Just chastity belt below her waist
She could follow the nude who ran in haste

She looked at old, young, pale skinned sight
All toddle in line, left, right, left, right

She couldn’t board the flight that night
Was much too bashful, that Indian bride



Monday, May 24, 2010

Gargogyle Notes

Photo Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber- All rights reserved.

Quatrain City Poetry Contest #5

The soothing music soared high up in the sky
Stirring the souls from ether zones
They parted the clouds to peep into the earth
From heaven, and tangoed to gargoyle notes.

Winning enteries:

Winner: Mari Laura Skjelvik
Moving Forward

Sweltering encompassed by stillness and daze,
directions of bewildered mind and soul,
healing as the wind sounding like freedom's trumpets,
moving forward, I pack my bag and leave town.

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Reveille

The city’s guardians' trumpets call
beleaguered inhabitants to guard her walls,
though bone weary of the war and strife
each must answer to protect home and family’s life.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Drabble

100 words fiction is called drabble

It was rainy heavily, colder drops, a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus-stand, I was waiting for the rain to let up so I could walk back from work, then suddenly out of nowhere, she came walking towards me and then sat down on the ground in front of me, spreading her legs. “Help! I can’t bear anymore” she screamed. “Move back, move back” said an older woman. But Alas! It was too late! Loud shrills filled the air, curiosity discovered the rage. One more street child was born that day.

The first few lines are the prompts at :http://www.yourstruly-theatre.com/ctspage.htm and the creative ending was written by me…..

Poetry

Poetry for me, is an expression of feelings
that reponds to the outer stimulii
Exploding the dam of thoughts
That comes out gurgling out of my dreams

Its an instant gratification of self
With words that wear lazy wings
And flutter all around my world
Bringing joy as they begin to sing

Word by word they emerge
On the ramp of verse, they wink
Dressed in jackets of metaphors
Surprise me with their tricks

Poetry for you is the food for thought
For me, a dessert with drinks
(c) Pushpee

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Fibonacci poetry

Loud
Noise
Around
Deafening!
Disturbs the silence
Limits concentration of mind
Kindly could you return my solitude back to me?

(c)Pushpee

The Fib, or Fibonacci poetry, is based upon a numerical sequence that begins with 0 and 1, and each subsequent number in the sequence is the sum of the previous two. Thus, the first few members of the list are 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on. For example, to figure the next number in the sequence after 5, you would add 5 and the previous number, 3, to get 8. Then, 8 and 5 is the next number, 13.

Poets throughout history have utilized interesting sequences in their poetic forms, and for centuries they have used the Fibonacci sequence as a guide for haiku-like poems. The numeric values typically represent either the number of syllables or words and usually is limited to just the first six members of the sequence beginning with 1. Most Fibs, however, are just six lines and utilize syllable counts, in the succession 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . Like most syllable-based formats, there are no rhyme or meter requirements

source: http://www.jackhuber.com/

Party Invitation

My niece is celebrating her tenth wedding anniversery in Goa and she wanted to invite everybody, I wrote for her the poem to go with her invitation:


Ten years of bliss, you shouldn't give a miss
dancing on Goa sands with some musical bands
hope our family and friends
with gather togather for tenth aniversery bells
and spend some time in harmony
to celebrate a lovely cermony
are you a game??
sent in your name
cause we are looking
before hotel booking
If you are able to come
It will be so much fun
I promise we will dance and play
and drink wine throughout the day

Monday, May 10, 2010

Frozen to Stillness

On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thankgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.


Photo Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber- All rights reserved.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme. I attempted this first time and I won. Above is the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it

Frozen to stillness, watched city walk by,
heart blooms hearing laughter under the blue sky.
Come, let’s join them through this alley, we must
break off this stoned life to release our lust.

My poem is also found HERE

Runner-up: Ayoub Bangroo

Myth of Life

Myth of life eludes me
years passed, but could not yet own;
can`t now understand what I see,
am I alive, or carved in stone?
It feels good to be appreciated. Don't you think so....???

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Solitude

Its one of those days when u wish to talk to nobody, when even the bright sunlight seems dim, when u wish to be left alone, its on those days when u introspect and weigh each moments and come out stronger, when awakened from ur daze

Friday, April 30, 2010

A Poem A Day - day 30

So, the story in poetry comes to an end

Over thirty days it flittered in sand
Searching wings that would help it fly
Amongst the shells of happiness
And few specks of joy
Bathing under the sunshine
It watched the wave’s crash over shores
Saw it wash off the memories in sand
It hopped and skipped, wetting its feet
Swinging the words in the air
Saw phrases topple down in pairs
Forming verses that stirred the mind
Some escaped, some lost in bliss
But finally, poetry found its wings
To fly away to distant lands

The End

A note of thanks

I wish to express my sincere thanks to CaPoWriMo, for giving me an opportunity of discovering poetry through their prompts during this month of April, ‘The National Poetry month’,  I didn’t commit to this before because I didn’t know I had thirty of them under my sleeve till I started to unfold them, day by day, one poem a day, and was actually able to play with words for all thirty days of this cruelest month. All the poems were freshly composed.

I am surprised that the words visited me and became my new friends.

Thank you Caferati. Also my sincere thanks to all my friends who read my poems, smiled and encouraged me with their lovely feedbacks. Thank you sooooo much!!!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Familial Chat

At seven o’clock sharp my blackberry rang
I opened the door to a worldly chat
Gits from States said friendly ‘Hello’
Gina from Curacao cracked a joke
Dolls from Africa laughed aloud
Harsha from Dubai wrote a quote
Anjali from Spain quizzed teased my brain
Kanisha from Indonesia gave a shout-out
Megna from Bangkok had naughty lines to add
Mukhi from Hong Kong nodded her head
Without valid Visa, ticket, cash
Around the globe I flew, no sat
On my cozy two by two chair
To a rib tickling familial, friendly chat

Exercise on CaPoWriMo, Do a list poem.

Epulaeryu

Hot and sticky, fried just now
Succulent and sweet
I look at it hungrily
Stretch my hand to grab
Pink concentric snack
Melts in mouth
Jalebi!!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Upside-down world

So yes! I did go for this
Documentary film on homosexuality
Why are you surprised?
Must I be one to qualify?
Do I have to be under same blanket
to see his problems?
Must I wear the same skin
to understand his plight?

Hundred people watched in silences
The struggle of actor with truth
A gifted person curbed by society
Crushes his profound desires,
Religion accepts him not
As a sinner
He travels thousand miles
To hide the fact
To buy the freedom
To destroy the agony within him

The film ends with questions
Hanging loosely in the air,
Pretending to live in a perfect world
We dare not see the picture distorted.
All look at each other, probing for signs,
To be or not to be in the groove,
A mark branded to distinguish him
Eyes look everywhere searching for its kind
Some kind of reptiles walking over his skin
A pokey touch from nails shaped like draggers
Blood shot contours breathing the flames of disease
Normal? abnormal? Right? Wrong?
Eyes betrayed not.

Alone he stands away from crowd
Disturbed confused,
Standing upside-down

Monday, April 26, 2010

Cruel Death

Save me, save me, save me, she said, I am not done as yet

There are mutual funds in London; to be matured in few years
The diamonds in the lockers before I go I must wear
And oh those party invitations, I can never ever resist
Those important corporate meetings, I cannot give a miss
Her head weighed down by pills, her cratered eyes sunken deep-in
Her body shivered with grief, her whispers breathing pain
The graph fluctuated with her heartbeat, the drip found route into her veins,
She gripped on to the railing of her bed, her shrills louder with each scream
Save me, save me, save me, she said, I am not done as yet
Then suddenly, there was loud groan that faded into silence.
He looked at her helplessness, then checked her breath
He covered her with white sheet from toe to head
Smiling at his lady luck, he put on his boots, walked
Down the busy street, hailed a taxi to rush to the bank.

Exercise at Capowrimo: Write a death poem.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Everything fades away

Everything fades away, melting the vision like candle wax
The footsteps on the shores settled by restless feet,
Those artistic hazy tones of lust on a canvas of love
That dark bold ink that engraved the memories of the sleepless nights
Those finger prints that traced the grooves of the friendships carved in gold
And the life moves on
To another chapter of life, scribbling newer notes,
Sketching fresh tones,
Painting brighter shades
Hoping for its eternity to another era where yet,
Once more,
The vision melts like candle wax and everything fades away.

© Pushpee

PS: Exercise (Capowrimo) on a circular poem. It has to end with the same line it started with, but in less than 12 lines.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Friday, April 23, 2010

Media World

Media world
Bulbs flash
Headlines talk
Gibberish
Untruth
Unrehearsed
Just enough spice
To cook up the soup
For a culinary chat
To have it with
Crazy meals
And gulp it down
With gossip wines

(c) Pushpee

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Untitled

“What’s for dinner?”
“Roasted steak”
“Don’t like”
“You have to eat”
“What if I don’t?”
“I will break your neck”
“You can’t do that”
“Yes, I can”
“Bloody Hell!”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind, I have change of mind”
“Aren’t you coming over to eat?”
“No, no, wife is back from her retreat”

(C)Pushpee

PS:Exercise on Capowrimo: Write a poem entirely in dialogue.

No attribution. No stage directions. No, not even the names of the two people speaking. Just what is actually said between the two people. Your reader can reach her own conclusion about the place, how they look, what they see, what they feel, based on your poem. The poem must be untitled

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Virtual Chat

Thousand miles away
You cry away
Weeping for help
Screaming through my blackberry
These sleekly mobile phones
Without a heart
‘PMS’ you say
And I laugh
Inexperienced that I am
Can relate naught
I speak of other things
Typing silly jokes
But you are not entertained
Self pity blankets you
Hiding the world
Beyond your discomfort
My insensitivity irks you
And you snap back in anger
With your words in caps
To silence me
But neither you nor I are mute
We return
You apologize
For the moods you cannot control
And I, for my insensitivity towards your pain
(c) pushpee

Exercise: 99 - CaPoWrMo - Day 21 (poem in 99 words)

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Shashi Thoorer resign : Acrostics

Seasoned talk was the norm in every
Home where Netizens tweeted
All people, young and old
Send short messages in
Hushed tones, bit.ly version of 140 blinks
Incredible craze clings

Till the day, tweeting got oxidized
Hosted by a tattle minister
Opinions on cattle fair rattled, creating
Oppositions of different kind
Repeated once more with another tweet
Expecting Saudi as 'interlocutor'
Ridiculous! He seemed like a traitor!

Rendezvous for bidding 70 crores
Exterminated his career
Sooner than expected
IPL team was the weak clause
Gandhi Rahul axed Tharoor by
Nudging his mom to terminate
Equity sweat controversies
Disgraced. He migrated overseas!

© Pushpee

First letter of every line reads horizontally a 'Hidden message': Shashi Thoorer resigned

CaPoWriMo is a promise to write one poem everyday for the month of April with Caferati prompts, acrostics only 10 days more, phew!! getting tougher.....

Monday, April 19, 2010

Limerick:-day 19

On a block of nineteenth poem, I have finally arrived
With no more handy prompts, I feel so very deprived
Today I will give it a skip
Because I really cannot think
But I am glad that after reading all my poems, you survived

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Scrabble match:

Will you always be just FB friend
And hide behind a virtual screen
Or will you step into my colorful world
And physically match a game with me

Won't you like to see my naughty grin
When those silly tiles obey me
Or probably see my wrinked frown
When it’s your turn to defeat me

Each morning Wiki unscrambles my brain
During my first hot cup of tea
On days you forget to play your turn
Hear my seven letters scream

This game of scrabble is much fun
Winning losing just a dream
It’s a bond that keeps our friendship strong
Play on, please don’t release me

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Surinam, Paramaribo

Back in the year 1983, I am travelling wild beyond Caribbean Sea in the remote land of Surinam, red mud stretches for several miles, dotted with weeds between sand pleats, like carpets of golden dust spread over streets


Every matured plant is a fruity tree. Mangoes in abundance smashed under wheels, sky above, crystal blue, Stranger am I in this distant land, an unknown place with unknown tongue, Dutch must learn I to define a pun.


Unpack my bags and walk a talk, to my surprise I hear one Hindu hawk, turn around; see a native man, Indian features, with familiar brand, meditates on a wooden beads, chants Hanuman Chalisa and prays like a priest


At the dawn of day, the old woman comes, relating me the story of her ancestors, one hundred seasons, in the cargo ship, from remote land of Uttar Pradesh, with promise to grow rich, and a rosy bed, her grandpa was brought to fields to slave.


No money to return, and a will to survive, he settled here clinging to their culture divine, to maintain their sanity, they lived in groups, ate daily spicy Indian food, spoke Bhaiya language with common tune and even watched some Bollywood.


Happy at last, thousand miles apart, I have wrapped my thought around my mind, hand in hand, palms entwined, they enclose me into their inner grind, we build a new cozy world of power and strenght, no more a stranger in this foreign land


Under my pillow, I keep huge ball of string which, when unwound stretches happiness all the way to my motherland


Writing prompt: http://www.jacarandapress.org/writing/poetry/grace.shtml

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Book Launch

Shiny books
Freshly cooked
They all sit there
Snuggled
With army discipline
Neatly arranged
Alert
One on top of the other
Same width, same size
Dressed in similar jacket
All cloned with same verse

“A brilliant crime comedy’ screams the blurb

The words twitter like birds
Escape from bound copies
To seduce the crowd
The author smiles, ear to ear
Happy that she, the Goddess of the verse
Could titillate the readers
And arouse interest in the scene
Frame by frame,
Moments captured
Camera flash
Autographed copies
Change hands

Out goes the revised manuscript
Driving through the lanes
Searching for a celluloid station
Where characters can step out
From the book and
Replay their part
On a big screen
Again

Until then
Goddess of verse
Awaits

ps: Inspired by the ‘book launch’ that I attended today
‘Betelnut killers’ by Manisha Lakhe at Crossword Book store.

Hawkers

They sell over open gutters,
filth covered over by
a blue tattered trampoline
Unmindful of rodents
scurrying under their feet
while they happily serve the eatery
Batata Wadas, Idli Sambar, Dosas,
all sold for a penny
A man of law stretches his hand
for his regular hafta of Rs600
and a doze of heavy meal
Then turns blind eye
to the law breakers
who become stronger
on Mumbai streets

Unmindful youngsters
in heat and dust
devour hungrily
the unhealthy meals

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Mom, Where are you?

Last night Mom walked into my dreams
So elegantly dressed in her white sari
Hopping, jumping, I slid next to her, under
The shadow of her pampering, sat I and said

“Look Ma, I learnt to cook tasty cuisine
Shelf by shelf, see my wardrobes are clean
Stubbornly, no more do roll I on floors, you know
I even kiss closed temples’ doors.”

She looked at me with a rapturous sigh
Then turned and walked away under angled light
“Wait! Wait! Don’t go, please come back”
But suddenly it was just an apparition

I pleaded, I screamed and then I cried
Deep sobs in my dreams, but Mom, I couldn’t find
Just droplets on my pillow, wet blanket on my side
Soaked memories of her sound advice

If tears could built the rivers that flowed through
These memories that lead up to her shores
I would swim right across, up to heavens tonight
to bring back my mom to this earthy twilight

Monday, April 12, 2010

A solitary dot

Look closely - Capowrimo


A tiny spec of a solitary dot
steers away silently
from a mobile chain,
far, far away from a wavering thin black line
scratches its head,
walks back and front,
changes direction,
left, right, left
finally smiles
as it slides back
into the comfort of wavy black line
merging itself with
the group of ants

Writing exercise :: http://www.jacarandapress.org/writing/poetry/look.shtml

Black Berry

Stop sending me your hourly messages
Through my insensitive black berry
My own real world is eclipsed by your heart beat.

I have stopped speaking the profound words,
Can you feel my breath through this virtual world?

I want to reach out and touch your love
But I can only grab the shadows of your smile

The cool air through my window ruffles my hair
I want to bathe under its soft breeze
But your memories unwound down the lane
Come popping out of this minute screen

Stop sending me messages, this is only a machine
Your words crawl
Only for a moment and then subside
I want the physical you by my side

Inspired by exercise at http://www.jacarandapress.org/writing/poetry/string.shtml

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Redevelopment

One more Sunday morning, we meet
you on that chair in the corner
and I near the door
Again those useless sweaty tongues
same thoughts, pickled and recycled
you nod your approval
like a wooden doll on beads
and straighten your back on every plead
not looking at my direction
nor see my wrinkled nose
thoughtlessly, you distribute advice
changing fonts and shapes
which nobody can read
and you begin anew

Later that afternoon
you will meet me alone
to sob on my shoulders
and crib like a baby, I know
how hard it is for you
to chair that meeting
where lines are distorted
so are the shapes of greed
Week after week,
I will give you same advice
Of taking your stand
And not let them bully you

Every Sunday evening, we built new hope
to own a house on the same floor
marble tiled, comfy lifts, decent gym
where you can sit on your side of window
and I on mine
and watch the sunset
matching the rays to find some clues

Every Sunday night,
You and I will paint fresh dreams
Of different hues
and wash away our blues

ps: today was the exercise on blue and I could use this word only once.
An exercise in blue: http://www.jacarandapress.org/writing/poetry/blue.shtml

Friday, April 09, 2010

Mumbai Trains

During rush hour it is not wise
to travel in Mumbai trains
You need skates to wheel
through the crowd as the ladies
Compartments have different
slots for different platforms
And if you want to save the time
and not miss the train
You might squeeze into gents compartment,
A mistake that you may later repent
You will find yourself packed like sardines
Into the sea of men, breathing neck to neck.
You will shudder as you get crushed
Like a vehicle in the car-wash,
You can feel their temperature on your skin,
As you get rubbed by their careless massage
No bone from head to toe can move,
Inch by inch, you wriggle
to find some space to breathe,
Only the nose is free to twist its nostrils
As it wrestles with different smells
The musky smell of aftershave,
The pungent smell of tobacco
The fragrance of a betel nut,
The greasy whiff of coconut
The bland odor of sweat

You want to be released and
wheedle for next station,

The train halts, you don’t exit
But are just pushed out from the train
Like a fountain of human from gargoyle.
Little wonder then that precision
At keeping the balance saves you
From scratching your knee

Free at last, after the train has departed,
You wriggle free and
Shake off the salt of their flesh
But now, you smell
Like a man.

ps: Writing exercise on smell @ http://www.jacarandapress.org/writing/poetry/nasturtium.shtml

Thursday, April 08, 2010

The original Simile

Silly man knows not the rules of the game
He is praying like a bird in a golden cage

How does he ask for impossible things?
Is happiness as expensive as a computer screen?

With precious stones, he makes travel bands
As pretty as air tickets to distant land

He travels in style, from New Jersey to Detroit
Running wild as if there are bombs during riots

He sells his wares, flaunting high and low
As loud as vase in the shopping window

Silly man loses his wages, his interest, oh!
Turns as blue as non paused radio

Muttering things that nobody can ever trace
Talkative as if he wants to win the race

If he won’t in time learn, he might as well rot
And die as lonely as old woman on cot

ps: In response to ‘The Original Simile’

Wednesday, April 07, 2010

Pills

The pill sits there on my table top
White, round, fat and serene
With the group of other playful pills
Square, round, pink, red, green

The pain in my waist is on increase
Nerves slapping under my skin
I stare at pill with hungry thrill
In hope to find some relief

“Think twice” says pill “before you chill”
“Are you aware of my side effects?
“I may jump, skip, dance and crush your pain
I may also cause some defects.”

“The twitch you see, the bump you feel
The red sore under your knee
All white blood cells that pained like hell
Was mischief played by me”

I purse my lips and glare at pill, screaming
“I thought you were my best friend!”
Ouch! Excuse me, I shall squeeze,
Now your end you shall see

One by one, I crush them all
And crowd them into a pan
Those square round fat, pink green, red pills
All powdered in dust can

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Villanelle

What would I do without your grace?
You are the reason I learnt to smile
You are my spiritual hero at every phase

Lonely in this desert, hot, lost and misplaced
Friends trot with me, but just for wee bit while
What would I do without your grace?

I see your powerful magic at every place
The nature is the haven spread across the miles
You are my spiritual hero at every phase

Unafraid, trusting you, I ran every race
With prayer in my heart, I crossed every tile
What would I do without your grace?

When I forget myself, then beheld I the face
Of my Lord, and then I feel that everything is fine
You are my spiritual hero at every phase

Seeking pleasures of this world, I wasted time
But patiently you showed me your path divine
What would I do without your grace?
You are my spiritual hero at every phase

Limericks

There was once a blogger who wrote to say
That she wanted from Microsoft her daily pay
She went on to tweet
That sounded quite sweet
Now Bill Gates her on twitter everyday.

Limericks: (5 lines. Rhymes - aabba.)

Clerihew

Mirza Sania
Crossed beyond border wagah
She cashed it with a tennis ball
By tossing it over heavy media toll

Clerihews: (Clerihews: It is four free verse lines with an "AABB" rhyme scheme.)

Sunday, April 04, 2010

Mumbai Streets – A Cinquain

Mumbai
Street light turns red
Beggars like swarm of birds
Peck on my food packet I gape
Perplexed

Note: A Cinquain (2/4/6/8/2) is kind of an extension to the haiku, but more direct. 22 syllables.

I hate you

I loved you once
But now I hate you
I need to end this game
Let’s pretend
We are still friends
Our interest is still the same
Let’s pretend that
Your absence has not
Killed every wave
Just for a day
I want to revitalize
Memorable moment
That prey my dreamscape
I want to choke you
Grip you into breathlessness
I need to end this game

Saturday, April 03, 2010

Bollywood style

Together, they share, cramped up into one room
Strangers in text, their interests divide
He sits to watch TV, while his room-mate croons
Stuffs cotton into her ears to concentrate on her book

Standing back to back, they snarl out of spite
The reptiles filled the room, poisoned by their bite
Over every cup of coffee, they find reasons to fight
The moon hangs its head and hides behind its light

Until one day, on that cold rainy night, he sneezes too loud
Her nerves get a fright; she watches in vain, his health decline
In a Bollywood style, she prays for a while, in church, in mosque
In filmy style, she kneels on knees and crawls for a mile


Hate transforms to love, like it always does, in Hindi films
To be villain till the end is a curse, the hero never dies
The end always shines, the strangers in text
Sings love songs divine.

Together they share, cramped up into one room
Strangers’ no more, lovey-dovey style
Movie-goers happy, their money worth well-spent
Fully satisfied, ear-to-ear, and all smiles

Thank U for this award

Thank U for this award
It feels good to be appreciated
Do you love what you read here? Copy, churn, reproduce, share or imitate....knowledge is for sharing....But, do acknowledge me, or better still.... send me a copy....... @Pushpa Moorjani