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

Friday, April 02, 2010

No Poem Today

Only ten minutes left
Yet no poem came
Knocking on my door
My efforts decayed

I waited all day
Outside my door
For the phrases to pass
And frill up my verse

Roses I displayed
Sweet fragrance glazed
The music was loud
To distract the brave

No sonnet, no haiku
None crossed this way
This day shall pass
With no poem today

Thursday, April 01, 2010

Check Mate

Twenty three times
I entered your room
It still remains unchanged
No chair has moved,
Nor your style
Your unpolished shoes lie by the window
So is the packet of your cigarette
Untouched
Where is your mind?
What has got into you?
Come-on
Make your move
Your king stands unguarded
You have been check mated
There is no escape
This game must end
To start afresh
Your new game of love

April Haiku

Foolish assumptions
The only words that you hear
Me whisper are true.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Capowrimo

I am not a poet, not as yet

I just dress up few lines of the prose with gaudy frills, and send them to a party of poetry. During this month of April, I will try to attempt one poem per day. Yeah I am joining those poets who are attempting to stretch their muscles and produce one poem each day. Not sure if I will be able to do that, can’t promise cause poetry is not something that I plan to write, poetry is something that knocks on my door and I just let it in…

Well this month I hope it knock everyday cause I plan to participate in Capowrimo and will also read Napowrimo

If you are participating too, send me your link and I will visit you everyday :))

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Life is like that only-part 5

Pain visits me today, uninvited,
choking me till I am charred by its heat.
I welcome it knowing
that if I didn’t feel it I would be in wrong place
Together, under soft covers,
we stretch for a while
Pen lays untouched, inks dry;
muse awaits till pain exhausts its pride

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Betrayal

Once again it failed

To serve my words
seasoned with lust
It swallowed up my verse
That I had meticulously fed
Into its black hard tummy
I had planned a surprise of
Shower of love with
Jingle of music
On his birthday
While he cut the cake
It just burbed

I swore that day
Never to trust
Internet again

Friday, March 19, 2010

Enjoy this moment

One of my FB friend ask me this question
"If I were to die tommorrow what would you say to me?"

In response, I had this to say to her

If you were to die tomorrow
How would you have known?
Had angels crooned into your ears
And tipped you about the heaven?

Don't listen, stop, enjoy this day
Where bliss is all we can know
Why worry about what people have to say
When happiness is here to stay??

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Need Relief

OUCH!!!
Each day I quarrel
With my limbs
Cause they too lazy
Always complaining
Pretending pain
From knees to the sole

Who will walk for me
If I don’t
In this journey of my life
I need to reach
Someplace
Where I can find peace
And tranquility

But my body knows not
Nor understands
Plays its tricks on me
Piercing thorns under my skin
Hammering crazy on my nerves
Won’t sit still, fidgeting
Until I let it rest
In luxury

It wants to creep
Under covers
On a warm bed
craving Nirvana
Pampered
With a hot bowl of soup

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Hello! Can you read me?

Each day I wait for you
To say something to me
Just a whimper will do
To let me know that you care for me

I make noise
Stamp my feet
Snap my finger
To draw your attention to notice me

But lost you are
Into your own world
Where I don’t exist
Nor the memories of me

Have I lost you to the world
Where nature never speaks
Has your love turned to stone
And crossed overseas

Sometimes I wish
I could walk into your mind
Steal your thoughts
and coat them with graphic of me

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Life is like that only... part 4

For every person who belittles me, there is always someone who lifts my soul and to that one person I smile back and I am unhappy no more

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Life is like that only... part 3

Eyes burn, blistered by the smoke, fire is everywhere, surrounded by laughter and song, women circle the bonfire with sweets and happy wishes and then, there is splash of colorful madness and eveybody giggles with festive air, a colorful festival of Holi begins, family rejoice the pleasurable moments.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Life is like that only... part 2

What we learned was never what we were suppose to: It just exposed us to bitter truth, a smile of complex meanings, and living in the shadows of hopeless hope

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Life is like that only... part 1

When I was looking for love, I was looking for peace, didn't know that they lived on the opposite directions and no friendship existed between them

Monday, February 22, 2010

Vodaphone, I am unhappy with you

Twenty five times I came to your desk
From cabin to cabin, I pleaded with your man
"Set my phone, check my bill
Have installed BB, want connection to my tone"

Your man in uniform only smile
Behind that mask, there is thick blank line
How can you explain if you not too sure?
Your tactics of customer satisfaction are quite poor.

Once upon a time, a pre-paid line I had
Just recharged my phone, Rs200 was fine
But Blackberry
Brought me to your front door
Pre-paid to post paid
You made me buy one more
Now I have two mo-lines, both post paid. Alas!
Poorer by fifteen grands, cash running fast
You are not clear with your hidden cost
You shock me, I am sorry, it’s so gross

In this competitive world, I can see
You want to survive, but I don't believe
You want to beat Aircel, Tata Docomo
And even exploit their private zone
But your ‘Happy to Help’ logo merely shrills
Doesn’t give me any friendly thrills
Such cumbersome interaction
doesn't please me a fraction
You fool common man online and in person

Vodaphone,
Can you hear me scream
I am terribly bored, I want to be released

I don't wish to rhyme
I have no time
I want my money back

You can take back your
Both post-paid lines.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Love-less Day


Once more, on these V days
The wind walks in through my window,
All alone
I pretend that I care no more,
There is no love in the air,
Parched are the thoughts
Under currents of hate
Fire burns the streets,
Power rules,
Egos glare from every threshold,
Unsecured emotions,
Hide under the skin.
Patience lay cuddled under silent rugs,
Blocking loud voices beyond stubborn walls,
You may un-friend me this time
I will not stray
Nah!

This Valentine day,
Love shall sleep all day.

Friday, February 05, 2010

What If.....

What if Sena behaved themselves and
prepared some soups
of sanity
We could live life, king size, colorful style,
and savor the sips
of equality
We would readily embrace the rules of trade
and even learn some
Marathi
If they didn’t crush us, beat our souls,
we would help, punch head
of instability.
Mumbai, a common umbrella for all;
we could breathe the life
of quality
Together we could grab the stars and the moon
and bathe in the world
of glitterati
Mumbai City, Spiritual Master to all,
be it Bihari, Sikh or
Gujarati
Why waste our breath in idle chatter
when we could be discussing
prosperity
We have cultured
gracefully,
our expressions,
mixed curry
Street food,
very tasty,
be it Vada Pav
or Pani Puri
In crowded trains,
we create space,
squeezing thin,
always in hurry
At every signal
we shop crazy,
be it inky quill
in words blurry
Tears stirred 
with laughter, sing,
vibrate at
every thrill
Weather too,
unafraid,
never scorching
our tender skin
We walk freely
at all hours
be it morn or
late nights
On our left side,
is the mansion,
and the slums,
on our right
Alas!
If only Sena
could be our friends,
we could create the magic
till eternity
something’s wrong
with our Mumbai city
It's mocking our
tranquility
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh 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.here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Strangers give me Fright

Strangers give me fright

When they’re smoking
I see them pull the match,
My heart is beating
They could make me choke
before this smoke is
through

Something in that smoke
results in fit of coughing
They don’t seem to care,
they keep chain puffing
Even if I faint
they will still be
unmoved

Strangers give me fright
specially those people
Who may look quite bright
until that moment
Their fingers grope for match
while the cigar hangs limp
Between their lips
and they think they are
cool

Its something in their eyes
which is so frightening
Behind those smoky rings
I see them bleating
I want to punch that lad
till he is black and
blue

Puffapuffapuffa
If they don’t stop it
Soon I will catch them up
and lock them all in the
looooooo

Sung to the tune of Frank Sinatra (stranger in the night)

Monday, January 25, 2010

Foodie Poem

Mom made breakfast just for me
Omelets, eggs in ghee
Ate bread butter, drank some tea
Crushed roasted almonds
Mixed with some peanuts
Served nicely
Geezh!


Indian food so delightful
Roti aloo dum
Add some spice, and butter, rum
Lay back and have fun
With some lassi churned
From that urn
Yum!

This form of poem is called Epulaeryu


The Epulaeryu is a short poem that describes or features culinary delights. Author Joseph Spence, who invented and named the form, put the Latin word “Epulae,” translated “feast,” with an Asian term, ”Ryu,” which means “form” or “style.” Accordingly, “Epulaeryu” would come to mean a poem about a feast or other culinary art with which the poet is especially fond.


The form typically describes various courses of a feast or meal, and ends in a singular interjection and an exclamation point, portraying the author’s excitement in the cuisine and its presentation. From the description in total, the reader should have a good sense (and taste) of the main course.


The Epulaeryu is a seven line poem consisting of thirty-three syllables, arranged in the following manner: 7-5-7-5-5-3-1 and “!” (seven syllables in line 1, five in line 2, and so on). Each line has one thought relating to the main course. The last line ends with an exclamation point, expressing the writer’s excitement and feelings about the poem. In this form, rhymes are a bonus.


As with many other short forms, there is no rhyme or meter. The title is at the poet’s discretion.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Catch Them Young


Catch them young, let them learn

To inhale the fragrance of the ink
Clothe them with the pictures and the words
Let them see the toppled world
Books that can be felt with soft, tender touch
Cannot be compared to keyboard feel
Child who learns to read a book
Will never experience that aloneness streak

Monday, January 18, 2010

Sea Shell Woes

Hide all sea-shells if you must
Invite your close PETA friends as chief guest
It’s not wise to sell at stalls
Trinkets made from live organs

Sea shells come out from the sea
To soak in sun and little breeze
If poked or tickled under your feet
You lift them slowly and let them be

Don’t take them home and pierce their bones
To make that gaudy jewelry
They do have life, if you must know
Beneath the sea, amidst greenery

Shells are beauty of the sea
What use can it be as an activity?
The soft mollusks pierced, removed from crust
Its’ abode dressed up for your vanity?

News: Chief Guest Maneka Gandhi informs police about the sale of sea-shell jewelry at Dilli Haat annual craft fair.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Muscle-less




Just a moment more and shall be done
Have sat too long on this muse, lonesome
Inspirations dead, muscles lagged
Had to peel off my skin and the fat

Cured and curried, bottled with rum
Surprisingly it melted, now feeling numb

Intoxicated, unmatched is your love
Bundled, twiddled, slowly I wrote
Ghazals, poems, text and prose
Something balmy to augment flow

Wrote about fire, charred my soul
Squashed, smashed under heart-ached glow
Scratched the pen to write folklore
But, now I am done, can write no more

I give up, I want my muscles back
To give the shape to my skinny self

***************************
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the sixth 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.

*********************************
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, January 06, 2010

Ferry Ride



Just few days back I made a short trip in the ferry...and the ride was during the sun set eve-Oh yeah!


The seagull followed us for a long distance, greedy for some more of our popcorn, while the red sun happily posed for my lens as it set down to disappear behind the waves......Lo behold!

I stood, leaning on the railings of the boat, swinging happily on the crest and trough of the sea....La la!

The breeze so strong that I had to hold on and not bend down my knees..Chee chee!

There were tired travelers returning from their hard days work, some fishermen who had fishes that they had caught in their net, and some commuters sipping their tea ..Sip sip!!

I shared the boat with hundred odd people, they too were watching the boats and ships that sailed in front of me....See see!!

In the forty-five minute ride from Mora to Mazgoan, I drifted from an old fishing village to Mumbai South, by sailing across the sea..Yipee!!



Monday, January 04, 2010

Mogri's Best Friend Gets Married


What Mogri fails to understand is why people ever bother getting married, especially if they have no relatives to show off their status. Live-in relationship is much more convenient: live without ties, no danger of extra-marital affairs and no ego crisis. And if people really want to fill up their homes with children, then there is no shortage of orphans, you can always adopt as many as you want. She knows that there are many people out there who produce babies accidently and are willing to donate their trophy to anyone who is foolish enough to take up such responsibility….


"Remember Sushmita Sen, see how well her adopted daughter is growing and I hear she is adopting one more child” she said.

But her friend, Sunni, was adamant as she was tired of her fourteen-year-old-live-in relationship and was very keen on settling down. She implored Mogri’s help in arranging their marriage. Sunni had told her that besides her reasons to start a family, she also wanted to have full control on the financial status of her spouse.

“Are you going to follow Hu Wang’s Chinese traditional marriage or you would prefer a typical Indian customs?” she asked.

“Indian customs, Indian customs, oh, I love Indian customs, I am sure Hu Wang will like that too” she said clutching Mogri’s arm.

Now Mogri had attended many Indian marriages but she had not closely watched the traditional customs. She knew that Indian marriages, like festivals, are celebrated for many days and people spend most of their time eating, singing loudly and laughing without any reasons, but research was important to understand the details of the customs. She Google searched for two days, making notes on the wedding procedures, the list of things required and other important details. Next she bought the DVD of several Indian films including ‘Hum Aapke hai kaun” and watched it carefully to understand a typical Indian wedding traditions.

“First and foremost, we need a Pandit to perform the marriage” she announced one day.

“What is Pandit?” asked Hu Wang.

“A Pandit is an Indian priest who performs the marriage. He is normally dressed in dhoti kurta and is usually bald and fat.” She said confidently. Most of the films that she had seen on weddings fitted such description.

‘Where do we find him?” asked Hu Wang

“We will have to call the marriage bureau, the agencies that arrange the match also provide Pandit, sometimes, just in case….” she said.

Hu Wang brought out the yellow pages, called few marriage bureaus and enquired about the Pandit.

“Have you made a guest list?” Asked Mogri

“Huh?” said Hu Wang and Sunni together, looking at each other

“Arrey, you have to invite people for the marriage na. Haven’t you seen that in the movies and also at the weddings that you must have attended? We need witness and a bit of crowd.” said Mogri.

“All our friends are in our home town, in China. Here, in India,we hardly know anybody, you are our only trusted friend” said Sunni, pursing her lips and raising her brows

“I have lotsa friends on the facebook” said Hu Wang excitedly, “I will create a Facebook event and invite all my friends. I am sure they will come.”

So, the event page was created on the Facebook with three choices: confirmed, maybe or no. It was an open event and guests were allowed to bring their guests.

Fully satisfied they then focused on other things.

The venue booking, the caterers, wedding clothes shopping, flowers, decorations, lights and other formalities were booked over the next fifteen days. Chinese cuisine was arranged and Hu Wang, very much pleased, complimented them on their thoughtfulness.

"You can pretend that they are your relatives" said Mogri, winking at Hu Wang.

Mogri had read that all the significant rituals are performed during the ‘mandap’ ceremony. On the D-day, they waited under the decorated mandap for the Pandit and guests to arrive. When Pandit did arrive, Mogri felt cheated, because the he was neither fat nor bald. It was too late to argue. But where are the guests? Although there were assured of 200 confirmed guests and about 50 ‘maybe’s on the RSVP of the facebook, only four guests actually arrived, smiling ear to ear. Mogri wanted to wait longer for more guests to arrive but Pandit grumbled that auspicious moment could not be delayed

The ritual and rites of the wedding were performed, garlands exchanged and Mr Hu Wang and Sunni legally tied the knot and the wedding was witnessed by Mogri, four FB friends, hired musicians, caterers, waiters, mandap laborers and few party-crashers.

Luckily, the food was not wasted.

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