Life uninspired?

I feel totally dead today.

I wonder how it feels like to die?!

**************************************

This dead night

Those lights remain static;
Bold stripes on stiff mufflers look unappealing--
Red dominating white.

Shut inside ice-cold cosmetic,
Those nerves wait immobile and freezing--
Ravenous for light.

Their minds spin frantic--
Eyeballs rolling 360 degrees unending--
Chasing better insight.

An escape route tactic;
From wretchedness labyrinth limping
Hounding liberty delight.

Yet, all, a drama so nonsensical;
Not a thing can create designs alluring.
This dead night.

(19th Sept 2006)

Indian streets

Building Palaces

Beads of sweat and dirt
glittering in the mid-day sun
on your tanned body hung
like heavy gold necklaces.

Your cheap anklets jingle
like tunes from bollywood songs,
as you balance your basket of bricks
and sand on your turbaned head.

Bare-footed heroine in a crumpled sari
performing a complex dance sequence
among yellow cranes and iron rods
building glass palaces for a day's plate.

Your infants, covered with soot
and eyes unopened, crawl out
from huts of sun-baked aluminum
to watch and learn your trade soon.

Your body toned and chiseled with
years of load and sweat and childbirth
knows not what is pain, anymore.
Do you question or accept what is?

Your aspirations, fears and fantasy,
I wonder if you speak of them
to your husband, children and friends.
Or are they drowned in noises of machines?

Flowers, gardens and peace and quiet,
do you ever dream of? Fairytales and
stories, would you not like to read
to your children every evening, every day?

While we ask, despite the angry monsoon sky,
your cracked heels in the mud still move
diligently, you know that this day will not wait,
and everybody knows that.

The Distance

The Distance


Measure
the distance between
the stars
in the night sky
and me.
You will find
and feel
that so much is
the bittersweet joy
that fills
the space between
us.



Measure
the distance between
two souls,
the earth
and the sky.
One they cannot be
but cannot do
without the other.
The space between--
the very essence
of their existence.
The harmony.



We are like
the ever-teasing clouds'
softness
and the earth's resolute
firmness--
different forms,
one we cannot be.
Yet the earth
evolved from clouds
and the clouds to
rocks of ice
on earth.



Invisibleness
of a life greater
we could discover
shrouded by clouds
of the visible.
Like heavenly bodies
that hide by day
and shine by night.
Our truest form
like ancient stars,
we do not see
by day.



Souls of old
they say
become constellations,
among dust
of eternity
they stay--
studs of immortality
on the bosom
of heaven
they become.
Those souls
we could be.


But on earth
we are.
And we shall be
the leaf
and the breeze, for now,
one against the other--
different forms,
one purpose--together,
season after season
creating and executing
life, dying and living,
again and again.



Measure
the distance between;
you and I;
see and feel
the depth in
the space between.
Could we live
without this vastness
to feel the breeze
and flutter the leaves?
Let the space be.
Different, together, we.

From a dungeon situated in an isolated dying forest

I Have a Dream (From a dungeon situated in an isolated dying forest)

Shaking vehemently an old edgy dying brown leaf prepares to fall.

In rhythmic moves my body continues hitting against the hard wall.

Leaves shudder as sharp noon-rays prick like thousand needle-points.

A tremor of new thoughts snakes through my numb limbs and joints.

Branches strangled by parasitic vine reluctantly sway as wind blows.

Trembling with strange senses, my mind; a trickle of realization flows.

Tired, sick trees cloaked with accumulated dust hear approaching rain.

Signs of tear on the aged wall appear; sparks of hope jump in my vein.

Every forest tree, trunk and twig languorously waits, parched and pallid.

Rocks loosen to open a vent; I see windows of ideas dissolving the solid.

Stiff dead dried leaves slowly disintegrate as rain arrives droplet by droplet.

Seismic waves of clarity threaten the old obstinate grounds; I find an outlet.

On fatigued soil littered rife with apathy, life stirred awake in the rainstorm.

A burst of fresh crisp air cleanses the foul; drugged mind it did transform.

Incessant honest raindrops clobber the face of the spiritless, morose terrain.

As walls of nepotism shatter, long-blocked sky of equality reappears again.

Bolts of lightning and thunder pierce the blanket of dirt that camouflages terror.

A river of change gushes in, washing the dungeon of malignant greed and horror.

Hope pours down on a forest kidnapped and left to die by the conscienceless.

Chauvinistic chains, that bound my true human potential, melt into nothingness.

The rainstorm brings a new reign of collective force overpowering all abductors.

No more metal bars, stripes, tribes of poisonous insects, nor thugs as my captors.

In the restored red-blue-green-yellow-pink forest, nobody pays a ransom to live.

Music flood in as gates open; tunes sing, of true love for life, not just to survive.

Custodians of the new forest live among low grasses, not on tree-houses high.

I talk and walk with all; kissing no pockets at all; my rights, I no longer buy!

The new era has water and sunlight for all, not for chiefs and their heirs alone.

I see every person - tribe-less; male and female, living in an extortion-free zone.

From the dying abyss of waste and debris, a forest arises into conscious living.

Stereotypical dreams decay and fade; I find Freedom and Justice truly reigning.

Enlightened minds travel from forest to forest, spreading peace, wisdom and love

A life liberated, to dream a dream in consciousness; a dream to live. A life to love!

Sumi Le Pheni :-)

Tsükoli ngo akütsu kükha
Ilimi qono pu.
Aghachomhi ngo aü kükha
Ighono jukighilepu.

Thisho le eno aye küzü le,
Kichi iti no phelo;
Lejole ngo alu-lo kühü le
Kümstü pelo ithipelo.

* * * * *

The Village Woman's Loom

“Hektha Qhumi” -- The Village Woman’s Loom


You wait for dawn spinning possibilities with patience.
As the first rays burst filtering through fluttering leaves,
your heart leaps hurrying to harvest the sun's radiance.
You set the threads in tension and hum as the loom weaves.

Your footrest firm, your head bent in deep concentration,
your eyes move in unison with the shuttle as it travels--
like shooting stars at night darting across the blackness--
carrying the weft of colour through the shed of emptiness.

The polished sword of wood your stable hands manoeuvre
as it skillfully beats the yarn, creating never destroying
designs that outlast lifetimes, like fascinating fables of yore.
Industry and love braided in your loom unwavering.

As your waist stay strapped with leather and determination,
thousand threads of black and red interlace with magenta stripes.
You imagine the colours of your paddy field, full and ripe.
Dots of yellow you embroider like hundred tiny suns in motion.

Scenes of past you re-create with instruments of hope, you yarn
beaming as every piece comes alive, fatigue long forgotten.
It might buy your children beautiful dreams, you yearn.
Dreamer woman worker, oh! Your magic loom of wood and cotton!

Rain, wind, rain, wind, rain

Wind With My Rain

Wind on my window,

lashing, howling beast,

brings memories of rain

-- rain that rained

all day and night

bombing tin roofs,

bursting thin hearts,

drowning loud prayers,

deafening roars of fury

echoing deep into the eerie night.

Ghostly images of yesterday

playing with curtains

casting shadows of time;

tossing years like leaves

falling forever into the depth

of forgotten waters.

Wind on my window,

knocking, whispering beast,

sprinkled with smell of rain

-- rain that rained

all day and night

leaving a faint trail

of fears and laughter;

dripping dots of nostalgia,

running rivers of mischief,

sweeping past the months and years.

Bottled by the wind

is yesterday’s fragrance.

The rain in the wind

teases the window

of my memory.

Naga naked

Naga

Naked on cold hills

under the howling bamboos;
Heads fall in a row.

Green fields, crops and rain

talk to villagers in rhymes;

Folksongs after dark.


Spirits and demons:
Children huddled close gasping
as fire crackles.

Kitchen gossip

Cut with sharp knives thin
Dripping juicy in a row;
Pineapple slices.

Red and plump delight
Succulent fruit; tomatoes
Grin under slim forks.

Yellow, ripe and soft
Bananas in bunches sat.
Unpeeled and waiting.

:-p

Fog. Mist. Home.

Rapturous Drum Beats

I ran
up the musical hills of a land far beyond.
I joined
joyous choruses dancing freely in open fields.
It was spring
and the birds were chirping.

I saw

fearless chiefs beating harmonious drums.
I joined
graceful women weaving colorful songs.
It was dawn
and the rays were rising.

I mused
beneath tuneful dewdrops of blue orchids.
I joined
merry youths sculpting melodious todays
It was morning
and I woke up from the rapturous drum beats of a beautiful dream.