My precious warrior

the numb ache

in your intense eyes

those warm hands

that often forget 

they have the map to home

I see the black hole

in your soul

that hides beneath

the colors and patterns

you scroll

you the precious warrior

-the bearer of light

inhale, exhale, pause

till the lighthouse

again shines bright

Wait till your halo

reflects back

remember, spring is never

too far behind!

THE CLOSET

Tentative fingers dive 

into the layers

entangled layers rather

of years together

This smooth cleavage-like

silk scarf from Brugge

A coarse cotton 

hand-loom in Bhutan

hairy, sweaty 

pulsating time

the pairs of watches

never worn together

never torn apart

heartbeat?

and I tug and pull out

the soul beneath flesh

smoke grey

my favorite one

from Istanbul

and it all tumbles out

as tears, memories

bruises and scars

I am a drowning closet

spilled on a cold floor.

Bad Omen

humans are strange

they dress up graves

and coffins

just like they do brides

They won't care

unless your death can fill

their gossip inboxes

the one who might write

lofty obituaries

shall do so

to keep the superhero tag

of compassion 

for the doomed you

you will be alone

dying

drop by drop

or falling

floor by floor

images flashing by

faster than the speed of light

the little girl leaning on her father

the young teenager's first kiss

the woman in love

giving up her world for it

the mother who survived

the child who didn't

the wife hiding the scars

behind the makeup

the brave woman

who didn't let her hand

or her voice shake

even when her soul 

was falling apart

all of you

she loved

she had only soul to give

and a body

but you wanted more

so she let you go

to find your more

and let you push the dagger

deeper and deeper

into her heart

smiling

The mirror had cracked that morning

the hairdresser warned the bride

it was a bad omen!

Poison

Pin drop silences

heavy words

both rocks

tied to my ankles

in a lake

the unborn children

I bled

a wet salinity

in the corner of the eye

liquid diet for the soul

toxic like the air

of a beloved soul space

O love

you my nectar

you my poison's taste

An Almost Impossible #BlindList

I am going to be 40 in 4 months and I have never taken a solo vacation. 

Yes I have traveled alone a lot, but it was mostly between cities I worked or studied to hometown and even now for work mainly but never for leisure, those trips were first with parents, then with friends ( in an only girls group too, then ex-husband, then child but never ever alone.


Being a woman in India the blueprint is set early, in my small hometown no girl ventured alone even to the school or library. I extended my limits there and learned how to be "safe" along with enjoying the long solo walks up and down the slopes of Shimla.

As I moved to bigger cities for higher education first, then for work and finally due to marriage I did travel alone a lot in jiggling roadways buses, overcrowded trains and shared taxis but there was no pleasure in those trips. Only covering the distance from point A to point B for a specific purpose.

I dressed conservatively, was always careful about my belongings, never became too friendly with a co-passenger so basically followed all the "good Indian girl" rules.

Now I have have finally arrived at writing #theblindlist , I want to #sayyestitheworld and finally let my wanderer soul roam freely.

Picture Courtesy : Picjumbo

The odds still stand, even greater may be- single parenting, Fibromyalgia, the horror of #MeToo stories and yet I want to give the world and myself a chance to do the following:

• Go on a trek in a group of strangers
• Go river rafting and feel the river touch me like a passionate lover
• Go Bungee jumping and feel the blood rush
• Drive with my limited driving skills to a forgotten castle, a secluded monastery
• Take a long train journey, through places where I learn new languages
• Meet a stranger somewhere on a journey and make a friend
• Look at countless sunrises and sunsets from an uninhabited island
• Visit the indigenous people somewhere and live their way for some days
• Wear what I want to wear for once while travelling
• Be on a flight without knowing my destination

Scatter

Disperse neuron by neuron

back into the cosmos

let them be obsessed

with their self-created I's

pore by pore dilute yourself

be soluble in your lover

Scatter like stardust in a galaxy

not like shards of a broken mirror

have the courage to be vulnerable

break like a wave at the shore

in his skin, his eyes and his soul

like dew dissipates on petals

Burial

“In the dark times 

Will there also be singing? 

Yes, there will also be singing.

About the dark times.” 

― Bertolt Brecht 

My body touches

smiles, loves, hates

feels 
while the soul
drowns in
a deafening silence

no bubbles reach
the surface
no ripples

the still waters
of life
choke my lungs
no songs now
no more words

I am buried
where you can't
light candles !

in a sand clock......

trapped in a sand clock

called love

they filled each other

turn by turn

only one could be full

at one time

the other effortlessly

emptying soul

to measure life

when time died

she took him along

like a corpse in a coffin

and let him go like last breath

Mosul Soul

Kufic : Google Images

Long before ceasefire

from all ends

this soul

is a worn torn city

Rubble and ruins

of homes

and dreams

heartbeat is sometimes

akin to gunfight

The Mosul walls

and the Kufic love

 Tigris of time

full of  corpses

lonely burials in the snow

in Baramulla

and Kabul

choosing tombstones

by scores

once a soul

becomes its own coffin

only then

 the war is no more.

U - Ursula K. Le Guin (Inspirational Writers) #AtoZChallenge

“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.” 

― Ursula K. Le Guin

Image Courtesy: Google Images


In an imagined world

the soul is tangible

the heart is unbreakable

and love is

unconditional.

Here is a list of all my #AtoZChallenge posts.

F - Fernando Pessoa (Inspirational Writers) #AtoZChallenge 2017

“I bear the wounds of all the battles I avoided.” 

― Fernando Pessoa

Image courtesy : Google Images 


We are too many souls

trapped in

one identity

In a world

scared of single voices

we have

one too many.

Here is the list of all my #AtoZChallenge posts.

Love Song of a Broken Woman

Muses are not always

Greek goddesses

Stories often lack

mythical significance

The chaotic noises

in a troubled mind

And the hole in the chest

Carved where once

blood pumped feelings

Are a broken soul's tavern

Tired is the only

Universal feeling

Of making up, making out

Breaking in ,breaking out

Breakdown

Fallen in love

Icarus or Lucifer

Just a woman

In an eternal fall

Shards of careless words

Peel the remains of love

From a carcass called body

And then the master stroke

Silence - to drive the knife home

And twist it to the last.

SNAKE

memories now like

half-eaten corn on the cob

too many blanks

the fancy terms

amnesia,dementia

treatments and stages

causes and refuges

this refuses to be

classified

just like me

not fond of naming

or defining

a free flowing drop

of love

I can hear the carols

from years ago

or witness 

the conversation

between Sartre and Simone

about life

"we have liabilities"

and bodies

and souls

that vast barren expanse

that hangs

unalive,undead

unloved

spotlights

kill sparks in the eyes

like a game of "snake"

Time eats its tail

lets see

if I will

forget you 

or forget myself.

how much does your soul weigh?

soul weighs 21 grams

so says the research

how much

does grief weigh?

or loss

or the lump

in my throat

how much is 

the weight

of that moment

when 

one belle' ame  

meets another

how much

is that nakedness

in grams that aches

and loves

remembers

and understands?

how much

does your soul weigh?

Living & Dead

Each person can save eight lives by organ donation

There is no count of lives we don't save

Due to lack of meaningful conversations

A neighbour mourns her dog

She had brought her up for twelve years

Ultimately life is the price we pay

For everything we fear to lose

The  collar still hangs on her gate

And the hollow in her soul

Humans- same mud

Capable of so much love

And such immense indifference

Mind is a battleground

And a graveyard

Of buried happy dreams

And meaningless mazes of consciousness

I am here and not here

I may live and yet not live another day

I may die someday and be already dead. 

Rashomon

Pic Courtesy : Google Images

Hiroshima,Nagasaki
the way we devastate
each other constantly

earthquakes
the soul shaking pain
we cause and endure
and play "strong"

Murakami - Norwegian Wood
fogs deeper than
mysteries of the soul
love a third dimension

Kurosawa's films
Rashomon effect
all of us trapped in
versions
we believe to be
truth

Buddha and Zen
all or nothing

a soul trip
to Japan.



 

Evidence

The manuscripts of some

fellow souls

are easier to read

 

because we know their codes

because we were together

in some nascent phase of

the evolution of emotions

I do not need to see

the dagger you sharpen

for my heart

hidden behind your back

 

I do not get insulted by the

hateful names you call me

I am ready for

the kick of betrayal

in the pit of my soul

I see the open graves

of a future we dreamed together

in your eyes

and that is all the evidence

I need.

Soul Winter

Pic courtesy: Google images

its a thought smog
a haze
through which
life looks like a
faded silhouette

No gadgets or doctors
can determine
this blockage
of words

it could kill
a writer you know

the way
the simmering core
of a dormant volcano
eats its insides
till its all ashes

in a soul winter
the heart is a barren patch of pain
and spring is far behind.

A day in my magical life

the smog sits heavy
like the carcass of
a dead relationship

in the rhythmic jostling of
a cycle rickshaw
lies the irony
of the ego spins
we derive
from the race
for being the superlative

the sedatives are strong
they blur memory
and sensation
but pain can't be extracted
like a rotten tooth

my fingers itch
my eyes twitch
looking for the next object
to scrub
while my mind fiddles
why ? why?

my late father's voice
reading out aloud
the laws of insulation

I know he is dead
I know the word "hallucination"

I close my eyes
and I jump off the cliff of self
into me

now I scrub
my soul's lamp
waiting for
some real magic.

 

Keepsakes (in the memory of my late father)

K

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Your watch on my wrist

like your pulse beating

next to mine

 

the old dog-eared diaries

still preserving

some warmth

of your fingertips

 

this chair in my house

where you would

always sit

for your evening tea

 

that something

that wells up

every now and then

and wets my soul

 

all precious keepsakes !