There are times
You wish for noise
And all you get is deep silence
There are times
You wish for a crowd around
And all you find is loneliness
There are times…
There are times…
There are times
You wish for silence
And all you get is a crowd around
There are times
You wish for loneliness
And all you get is noise around
There are times…
There are times…
“Feather touch” – the thought dawned during a stroll through the woods in an autumn morning with a friend. She loved putting them on the wall, and she said children loved feather touch. As usual, the thought was dormant in the diary for exactly a year, and now seeing light.
Its not about feathers alone. There are hundreds of human beings who lay abandoned, till a hand picks them up, make them fulfill their destiny.
The photo was taken from a city park recently, on a similar autumn day.
********
Feather Touch
The feather lay in the woods,
Deep under the dry leaves
In the black trodden road
Under the yellow autumn shade…
The feather lay under the woods,
Untrodden, unhurt.
Does it hurt the bird, when it sheds a feather?
No, its one in a million.
Does the feather cry when it hit the cold road?
No, feathers don’t cry.
The feathers don’t cry, they only touch
The feather touch, the soft comforting touch…
One day, a hand picks the feather
Puts on a wall, colors it and caresIt shines and smiles at the world
Touches gently, the soft feather touch.
That is what feathers are made for
To touch gently, the feather touch.
I wrote this poem long back, in June 2005. It doesn’t obey any of the rules of a regular poem. I would call it, just a poetic thought without rhythm or rhyme.
Strange are the pictures
Hung from the walls in the gallery of life
Yet strange are the colors
Which give life to those unearthly figures
Strange are the magic ones
smiling while upright but sneering upside down..
Still strange are the faces coated with glittery smile
And fade out with droplets of salt.
Strange to see the jigsaws
Which used to be perfectly fit,
are not the same anymore..
And strange is the glue
That fastens some pieces
Which are to fall out of the frame…
I wrote it long back.. I don’t remember the year.. Anyway it was somewhere before 4 years, before I abandoned my habit of writing diary..
How often we take things for granted, like I did with my square window!!
The window was there all the time,
But I saw it only today.
It stood square with full of light,
The birds chirped thru it.
The window was there all the time,
Leaves danced in sunlight through it
It showed me old leaves fall
And the new ones sprout.
My sky was square always,
Because my window was square.
But I never cared for my window
Who was my guide to world behind.
Food for thought.. :-) This was a sudden idea when I simply spent some time for myself alone ..
Wish I had a kitchen equipped with spices,
Dishes and pans,to cook things others need
I need to cook happiness, smile and laugh
Coated with brown chocolate icing
Which melts in others mouth
and make them praise my dish..
I need to cook sweet words in seconds
When someone demand for that
The sweet sugary words scattered
Over my burnt out dish, masking its bad taste
My dish will never have salt
It will always be sweet
I will add my sweat and blood to it
But it won’t ever taste bad
Wish I had the recipe of all these
Wish I, wish I, could just find what I need..
Just got this from my Diary of 2001. The sheet was one of the lecture notes :-D, and the hand writing was Rupa’s. One of the moment’s of creative discussion I suppose.
She has written the name of poetess at the end as “Dorothy
King”. Google didn’t show me such an author, nor I have read any other work of hers. Yet, the hope about life couldn’t be more beautiful and optimistic than this.
Being back from home, I was just cleaning up my realm in our flat (exact half of a shelf). I happened to flap through one of my old diaries, and a paper slip fell down. It was the poem by Madhusoodanan Nair, which he recited in the movie “Daivathinte vikruthikal” (God’s mischieves). The poem sings beautifully about the worries of an Anglo-Indian who had to leave his home in Kerala to France.
On a sudden impulse, I attempted a quick translation. Here is it. :-) A human mind which refuses to let go the treasures, and holds on to it passionately..
Long time back, I had an argument with someone in Poornam. The argument was that I declared, “we shouldn’t trust people easily, especially guys..”. [No offense meant, please]. I was just meaning that we shouldn’t trust a person until we know him/her very well for a considerable time.
The poem below was written during the argument. Just had a chance to remember it yesterday, dug it out and here it is : [ the language is kind of sluggish. May be I will modify it a bit when I get time and republish]
