Burns without ash
and burns within
colorless, odorless
it burns and stings...
not real tears
it’s the eyes
watering from the
stinging smoke of my
burning poem...
All trash to be
burned,
turned into ash
all trash…
So it came to this...
From vows exchanged
To swords trained
From happily ever after
To end of chapter
From the dark mane
To color and rogaine
Seen and done it all; what’s new?
Still lost within, and have no clue…
Locked up! The body a cage
Oh, it sure is lousy to age!
I write like...
I visited a site that allows you to paste your writing and then tells you which famous writer your style is most like. And see what I got!
Most pleased :D
Decisions
Walking through the forest road
I caught a glimpse of a path
That not many feet had trodden
Grass growing where feet once fell
Maybe with good reason?
‘Who knows what I’ll meet, if
I go down that path?’
I turned away and walked on
And have been walking thus…
To things and places pre-ordained
No surprises in store
Far away from the forest now
I think of the old footpath
Who knows what I’d have met, if
I had gone down that path…
I caught a glimpse of a path
That not many feet had trodden
Grass growing where feet once fell
Maybe with good reason?
‘Who knows what I’ll meet, if
I go down that path?’
I turned away and walked on
And have been walking thus…
To things and places pre-ordained
No surprises in store
Far away from the forest now
I think of the old footpath
Who knows what I’d have met, if
I had gone down that path…
the wannabe
She woke with a start
Too tired, after the
night’s escapades…
With herself and her imaginations
Running wild both
One egging the other on…
She wore lipstick too
Not like the other nights
When it’s just pretend-play
This was the real deal
And boy, it felt good.
Madonna came…
And Elvis was there too
‘She looks pretty’, he’d said.
She sang and won hearts again
And again
And again
And then was too tired
To carry on
Body revolting against mind
She fell on the sofa, asleep,
Smudging lipstick and mascara
And dreaming on…
And on…
Too tired, after the
night’s escapades…
With herself and her imaginations
Running wild both
One egging the other on…
She wore lipstick too
Not like the other nights
When it’s just pretend-play
This was the real deal
And boy, it felt good.
Madonna came…
And Elvis was there too
‘She looks pretty’, he’d said.
She sang and won hearts again
And again
And again
And then was too tired
To carry on
Body revolting against mind
She fell on the sofa, asleep,
Smudging lipstick and mascara
And dreaming on…
And on…
Kite Strings
Just finished reading Andy's Kite Strings and have to say it was the best 175 Rupees I have spent in some time.
All the characters - Mehnaz’s Abbu and Ammi, Rehana, Aasia, Imtiaz, Zohra, Mrs. Dahlia, and my personal favorite, Fauzia, were etched out so well (from Mehnaz’s perspective) that I felt like they are people I know.
Mehnaz, especially, is a very interesting character, because she is not black or white – she is kinda grey, which makes her more life-like than many other characters that we come across in books. It also makes us care for her in ways that we wouldn’t for some others.
For me, it was also a window to this fascinating world so different from mine, culturally. The community and their customs, beliefs, etc, were quite alien to me. But that’s where the alienism ends – for everything else I can relate to. I guess any Indian girl can relate to.
The feeling that you want ‘to do something’. The uncertainty about life and what it holds. The feeling of being a kite with the string in another’s hands. The feeling of never living up to your mother’s standards :)
What I really liked about Andaleeb’s writing was the flow and the simple honesty. You know she is a writer who doesn’t hold back – she brings it all out and arranges it on the page with an easy grace.
I thought the ending was beautiful. Open, with so many possibilities. Just like the terrace Mehnaz likes to frequent :)
Kudos to you, Andy, for such a commendable debut – here’s to many more yarns in the years to come!
All the characters - Mehnaz’s Abbu and Ammi, Rehana, Aasia, Imtiaz, Zohra, Mrs. Dahlia, and my personal favorite, Fauzia, were etched out so well (from Mehnaz’s perspective) that I felt like they are people I know.
Mehnaz, especially, is a very interesting character, because she is not black or white – she is kinda grey, which makes her more life-like than many other characters that we come across in books. It also makes us care for her in ways that we wouldn’t for some others.
For me, it was also a window to this fascinating world so different from mine, culturally. The community and their customs, beliefs, etc, were quite alien to me. But that’s where the alienism ends – for everything else I can relate to. I guess any Indian girl can relate to.
The feeling that you want ‘to do something’. The uncertainty about life and what it holds. The feeling of being a kite with the string in another’s hands. The feeling of never living up to your mother’s standards :)
What I really liked about Andaleeb’s writing was the flow and the simple honesty. You know she is a writer who doesn’t hold back – she brings it all out and arranges it on the page with an easy grace.
I thought the ending was beautiful. Open, with so many possibilities. Just like the terrace Mehnaz likes to frequent :)
Kudos to you, Andy, for such a commendable debut – here’s to many more yarns in the years to come!
Who am I?
We had this Friday fun event at CDG (my department) where we had to do something on the topic 'Who am I?' Most people drew and sketched and made collages. What a talent! Since I am a total dud at drawing/sketching, I decided to write a poem instead. Posting it here now.
Who am I?
I am the one who walks alone
Yet stands by you when all are gone
I am the one who hears it all
Seems quite small, but still stands tall
I am the one who values friends
And believes means mean more than ends
Journey, to me means more than the destination
Still I am the one who’s marred by consternation
But oh, how I wish I knew who I am!
I am not the one I see in the mirror
I am not the one you see either
I am more, much more than this, I know
But nothing of me I can bare or show
I might just live in this corner of the world
And then die one day without having been told
Who I was and what this life was for
Just always headed to the next open door
Like levels in a game of increasing skill
Life will ebb away when I don’t get my fill
Of life, of love, of warmth and health
Of honest passion, without stealth
So long! And I will say this before the gong chimes -
I like being among you, O, people of my times!
Who am I?
I am the one who walks alone
Yet stands by you when all are gone
I am the one who hears it all
Seems quite small, but still stands tall
I am the one who values friends
And believes means mean more than ends
Journey, to me means more than the destination
Still I am the one who’s marred by consternation
But oh, how I wish I knew who I am!
I am not the one I see in the mirror
I am not the one you see either
I am more, much more than this, I know
But nothing of me I can bare or show
I might just live in this corner of the world
And then die one day without having been told
Who I was and what this life was for
Just always headed to the next open door
Like levels in a game of increasing skill
Life will ebb away when I don’t get my fill
Of life, of love, of warmth and health
Of honest passion, without stealth
So long! And I will say this before the gong chimes -
I like being among you, O, people of my times!
drawing a blank
paper and mind went blank ___
just like that...
not even a 'poof'
funny; just a while ago, my mind was
a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions
now... nothingness abounds
amusing, isn't it?
how you can go on
even when you have
nothing at all to say?
mutual curiosity
A tiny spider, all by himself,
Spinning a web of the thinnest string
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
I ask, and watch enthralled for a while
Then peeling my eyes off the window
At my own reflection I stare; I
Powder my face and wear mascara
I paint my lips in the bloodiest of reds
And line my eyes with the darkest of kohls
The spider has crawled to my window sill
Peering at me and responding in kind
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
Spinning a web of the thinnest string
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
I ask, and watch enthralled for a while
Then peeling my eyes off the window
At my own reflection I stare; I
Powder my face and wear mascara
I paint my lips in the bloodiest of reds
And line my eyes with the darkest of kohls
The spider has crawled to my window sill
Peering at me and responding in kind
‘Whom do you hope to catch?
For whom is this trap?’
Yashodhara’s lament
A slight noise, and
Hope raises its eyes again,
Straining into the darkness
Beyond the awnings
Someone walks
Is that perhaps, you?
But no, alas! It’s not.
Hope that had raised its eyes,
Lowers it now.
Everyone comes back
Returns to their nests
Where be you, O charmed one?
Where be you?
Rest; I tell myself
let that blessed blanket
Of sleep fall,
Cover hope’s eyes.
Tomorrow, I shall see
Some other souls
Who smile at me,
Not utterly unkind
They will say again
That you will come
Back to me, back to us -
But I see not hope in their eyes
I see not hope, my lord
I dreamed once
That you and I walked
Together into the sunset
Hand in hand
It was not an impossible dream
Not oil on water
So easily moved with
A blow of the wind.
I was tied to you
And you to me
In the most unknot-able ways
And you undid it
When, I know not
But it was not the night
You left my side, I know
It was long before
And I never knew
When? How? Why?
I ask myself
Questions, reverberating
Through me and into the heavens
Like the hymns you
Now chant somewhere
I fear for me, O loved one!
I fear for us, and ours
Waiting in this gazebo
Night after night
I slowly come undone
At my hinges
I slowly come undone
Hope raises its eyes again,
Straining into the darkness
Beyond the awnings
Someone walks
Is that perhaps, you?
But no, alas! It’s not.
Hope that had raised its eyes,
Lowers it now.
Everyone comes back
Returns to their nests
Where be you, O charmed one?
Where be you?
Rest; I tell myself
let that blessed blanket
Of sleep fall,
Cover hope’s eyes.
Tomorrow, I shall see
Some other souls
Who smile at me,
Not utterly unkind
They will say again
That you will come
Back to me, back to us -
But I see not hope in their eyes
I see not hope, my lord
I dreamed once
That you and I walked
Together into the sunset
Hand in hand
It was not an impossible dream
Not oil on water
So easily moved with
A blow of the wind.
I was tied to you
And you to me
In the most unknot-able ways
And you undid it
When, I know not
But it was not the night
You left my side, I know
It was long before
And I never knew
When? How? Why?
I ask myself
Questions, reverberating
Through me and into the heavens
Like the hymns you
Now chant somewhere
I fear for me, O loved one!
I fear for us, and ours
Waiting in this gazebo
Night after night
I slowly come undone
At my hinges
I slowly come undone
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