To Let Go, To Let Love...

Sip after sip, and the last few gulps,

My head is dancing; and dancing like a ‘feather’…

A ‘feather’ that should have slipped into the heavy wind,

As it rubbed off some bird's troubled wing

My head now a feather, dancing with my lost thoughts,

Dancing madly, the tempo rising, the beats soaring with every new gulp,

Eyes now shutting, but I force them open

To keep the feather from losing its rhythm in the dark!

I can feel the heat inside my belly, even my skin feels hot,

My breath smells of wine, red red wine bubbling in my veins,

My tears now blood red, red as my wine...

Dizzy eye-lashes soak in the red, and retire,

And the tired ‘feather’ has now withdrawn its performance… !

.

.

.

.

Eyes (still the shade of Wine) open as a melodious voice kisses their lid...

The feather has disappeared, an iron log now replacing my head...

The voice gets clearer, sweeter in praise of the mighty Elephant-God..

'Sukh karta Dukh harta, Varta vighnachi...' oh yes! He’s come, ‘Bappa’, My Lord!

This new morning, nothing like my last night...

Red wine fading from all its invasions, slow and quiet...

Blood, breath, eyes, skin now being freed,

The iron log on the head shedding its stubborn weight; Senses slowly being redeemed!

Devotion billowing all around, setting up a mood,

Fragrance form incense sticks spilling out, like soothing music from a flute...

The next 10 days promising cheer and celebration

My buoyant heart now making room for submission, some jubilation...

Brighter days ushering in as my will, my wish now cling to the lord,

His dainty eyes offering ‘assurance’, His generous belly ‘accepting’ anything that I’d offer...

His mighty form ‘wiping off all hurdles’ I perceive… Now, in this very moment,

His enormous elephant head brings me close to his ‘wisdom’, his knowledge so ardent...

His only tusk re-inforcing the motive of 'focus',

This flaring of energy, I can sense, positive and hopeful in its stance...

Shaping this burst of energy with control and balance is ‘Your’ form,

O Ganesha, it’s your frame, your etiquette that’s brought me faith and strength!

And the day has come when ‘Bappa’ has to leave...

With his 'mooshika', the mouse that cuts into blinds of ignorance and fear!

And even in his farewell, he leaves me another lesson,

Showing me yet again the brilliance I hold with my ability to let him go...!

In his elephant form I see him, as he wades his way into the water,

Away from all we mortals who should now learn the essence of letting go...

For it is only in detachment that fear bows down to 'faith'.

The radiance inside me, now unleashing yet again accepting a new start.

Like the hangover from wine that refused to stay,

The bird's wing had to let off its feather when the storm came,

That moment is now, when I see how to let go…

To let my resilience soar, and doubts clear, I have to let go...

I must grow beyond attachment, and know that all is dispensable,

And to be able to love in the highest order,

Like a sturdy tree with its roots deepened into the earth and poised to deliver without dispute,

I must know that all things that come, will go;  like the sun and rain with their own time and purpose.

Like the buzz in my head, the heat inside my gut, the dizzying night and the Elephant-God...

Which came and left after their roles in the scheme of the larger mystery of Life,

I now know, it’s only in letting go that I can let love in...

A love that is above all, nourishing and radiant, making me indomitable, invincible!

--------------------------------------------------------- Love without conditions is not a permanent state, but a practice!

The Girl with Ebony Saucer-ed Eyes

The dark in my eyes,
Coughing, Swelling, Pervading....
Tarred last memories smoking off my exhaust mind,
Clogging, congesting my senses, Arresting clarity, Shutting out a verve that was mine...

The dark in my eyes,
Deeper than the hue of the night sky,
Stubborn like the colour on my paint pallet,
A 'black' I stare into, like a blinded soul, deprived and obstructed.

The dark in my eyes,
Pressing against my lenses...
As if wanting to burrow through its white, pour down my inside,
And seep farther to rob my blood of its red...

The dark in my eyes,
Invading my core, inflating my pipes and puffing my organs...
I feel the dark surge inside my ribs, thwarting my pulse,
The black venom pinching my heart, wrenching its valves, silencing its last few beats...

The dark in my eyes,
Now flooding my presence, stilling my endurance...
A somber melanoid shadow remains, deserted and forlorn,
Two ghostly haunted voids weep, where once a pair of ebony saucer-ed eyes charmed and smiled.

The dark in my eyes,
And a black cadaver - all that i now have for mine...
Needing no grave, no remembrance, no farewell...
Wandering without kin or kith, with no last ritual or even a prayer.

My black-skinned, dried blooded corpse begs for no rebirth,
For this world is no place for her, no place for love...
Where hope is shunned, faith rebuked and peace chided,
Where the ones you confide in trip you down, enjoy a laugh...

A place where your people, let go, find different roads,
After promises exchanged, vows held high and dreams conceived...
Where your own turns foe from friend, leaves you at a dead end..
Where the spark in those ebony saucer-ed eyes die away, with 'black'
barring her breath...!

Women of Spirit

"A Whore. A Slut." The Urban online dictionary defines both these words as 'A Woman who sleeps with everyone'.

"Sleeps with everyone" - Really? The one who coined these terms surely never knew what it feels like to be a woman! 

People all around discussing women rights and women empowerment these days. We are debating efficient measures to usher in safety and respect for women in a country which is home to more than 5 million women sex workers. 

These Women too with a uterus, a mind, a heart. Nothing more. Nothing less. Each of whom bleeds every month to sync with nature's rhythm and behavior, gives birth to children, have had their first time with intercourse, each of whom with their first stories that pushed them into the flesh trade....

These are women. Who laugh.cry.smile.envy.think. Who live and breathe. But the law of our land wont care. Won't listen, recognize them as existent. Why? Because you think they could make themselves useful elsewhere and that prostitution is 'not by chance but CHOICE' ? .............. Really? 

Women empowerment, we discuss in my country where over 5 million women are denied legal recognition! 

Women empowerment in my country of 5 million whores. 

You call my Sister a Whore; A whore with might and courage holding her spine! It takes real substance to be a Woman. 



A Woman In My Country!

-----------------------------------------------------------  -- I, Restless|Ashamed|Disgusted|Furious.

Happy B'day Bapu!

Long long ago, on 2nd October 1869, at Porbandar - a small town on the western coast of India, was born a child... A feeble, shy and timid child who grew to become a Man of resilience and belief... A man who showed the way... And helped an entire nation change its fate... To be re-born as The Mahatma...

I'm just so fortunate that I belong here.... Here, where He lived and dreamed :-)

Happy B'day Bapu! :-)

Hope around my Street?

Had to make a short movie on 'HOPE' under the theme of 'Colors of Life' to be screened at a school's Annual day. I sat flipping through some immediate random thoughts. What could be that one subject that justifies, uplifts a state of mind as clear and positive as 'Hope'; I wondered.... Some more time spent weighing the 'yes'es and 'no's.

 And then that moment when a smile paused at my lips and I realized - I just had to look at the street! :)

Mrs. ARORA

A smiling sun admired her face through the window pane,
Slipping through the satin curtains, brushing through her mane...
She rubbed her eyes and in return pouted a pinkish yawn,
Her fists punched the air above her head, skin folding in at her toned waist.

Her eyes swollen mild and cheeks glowing in the sun,
Curly burgandy heavy locks clinging down her messed hair bun.
She walked to the window to draw back the satin drape,
And turned to the Masculine tanned, tempered torso laying across the bed!

She tightened her night robe when an attendant knocked,
Room service with tea bags, suger cubes and a kettle corked.
With a large mug of black tea, she rested against the soft pillow,
Her deep gaze smooching his wheatish skin, tugging at secrets lying locked.

Still hugging her fantacies from a mushy night, she longed to stay,
Like the stubborn mascara around her dense lashes that wouldn't wash away..
She wished to stay wrapped in the haze of her deep desires,
Her strength meant his well-bred arms; Her prayer, his husky voice; her escape, his rugged charm...

Last night when they yearned and indulged, His sweat rubbing against her bosom,
Like silk his fingers felt, caressing her far, lost senses - top to bottom...
He tasted like champagne - clear and pristine, smelt like mist - virgin and raw,
His love spreading far inside her, an intense mad rush beyond her fathom!

She still could feel him reckon into her - staunch and unnerved,
To every thrust, she'd drop a tear to the moment she was sure to preserve.
Under the thick blanket they moved in harmony, folded in ache and pleasure...
A grey dark destiny so finely crafted; in love, in lust, in the bond of 'together'!

With the last sip of black tea, she ran her fingers through his scruff, unkempt hair,
And he tossed his head onto her lap, his eyes closed, his vibe intense and dared.
She bent down, her lips meeting his eyelid; he was her best pal, mate and consort..
Like beer to a parched throat, he was her Calm in chaos, always her best mood to wear!

She stared at the clock ticking away in joy;
What anti-aging creams do to age, why cant I do to time; she wondered silly and coy!
When she knew she was to go home to another man, insensitive and tough,
Mr. Arora who fell in and out of sexual flings, cheated, plotted and ployed!

A life of disgust it is; for she has to use his name as her last,
And knows of 'Mr. Arora's' raunchy cell fone texts, sloppy pics of his present and past..
He's scheduled to arrive in an evening flight from his offcial trip to london,
While 'Life' happened between Mr.Arora's official visits - reckless, hidden and masked!



.............................. Who is right and who is wrong? The husband whose a womanizer, the wife whose in an extra-marital relationship, or the lover guy whose involved with a married woman? 


Can Humans be slotted as 'right' or 'wrong'? 'Black' or 'White'? 

Personally I think all of us make up interesting shades of 'grey' - some light ... some dark... 
The Human psyche is complex and bizarre. Accept it. Do not get busy judging people. Life happens once. Live it well! :-) :-)

Damn "You"!

Damn 'You'!
All 'You' do is crib of hair loss, a non-size zero figure and a big fat nose...        
When brave soldiers put up with disfigured limbs and a broken pose!!
And yet there are those who live with spoilt faces and a burnt skin      
Thanks to the terrorist who rejoiced and danced into yet another sin!!

Damn 'You'!!
All 'You' do is mock the cold food served on a flight with more hue and cry...
'You' forget with no shame, no guilt; as you sit on cushioned chair in the sky...
The little kid at the traffic junction polishing shoes for a daily glass of milk,
Fathers assuming gravel, brick and tar weight to fend for a family so abject, so sick!

Damn 'You'!!
All 'You' do is fuss over passe clothes and mock the outdated cell phone... 
While wearing mismatched rags street kids walk naked feet on hot stone!!
When the toast gets burnt, 'You' throw a fit; a slow internet gets 'You' to gripe... 
On the street you walk beside hundreds who see no food, no aid - under the sun they ripe!!

Damn 'You'!! 
All 'You' do is rant about the hefty drink that failed to induce a kick...
While on the footpath across the lane a mother sleeps with her baby, thirsty and sick! 
A mother with a dry parched throat, her breast produced not a drop of milk... 
Yet 'You', the damned 'You', snugged in your couch - cursed the slipcover for being linen and not silk! . 

Damn 'You'!!
All 'You' do is suck up more power to run fans in empty rooms and coolers for men in coats...
While children in villages far away, train under oil lamps and in bleak light they wrote...
'You' ridiculed, gibed, sneered, scoffed and wasted...
While they endured, preserved, saved, smiled and adapted

Damn 'You'!!
My conscience cringes and heart aches that 'You' are so many...
But killed I am as I know, that most often than ever, its 'You' who are ME! 





....................................................... SOCIETAL INSENSITIVITY is a serious problem.