The apology

I finally got down to writing something........

The Apology

He is sitting on the bed
Staring at the phone
A hundred thoughts in his head
Wishing the answers he'd known

With every tick of the clock
His courage slowly drains
And with every passing minute
Memories befuddle his brains

He knows it's all forgiven,
Its a story, old and forgotten
But not saying that one word
Makes him still feel small and rotten

He caused her much pain
She forgave,without him having to ask
So he hated her all the more
But she never took him to task

As time moved on, so did they
The passing years dulled the pain
Dulled the sadness, dulled the spite
And friends they became once again

She never mentions those past events
Never mentions how much she cried
He never mentions that he is is now sorry,
And to say that, how long he has tried

When you put a nail in a wall,
Drive it in with a force so blind
And when you pull it out later
Notice, there is a mark always left behind ?

So it is with relations amongst people
How hasty and foolish he had been
No matter the amends, the mark remains
But he is hoping he can wipe the slate clean

"Its long overdue", his heart tells him
And the same echoes through every muscle and bone,
"Its now or never", he tells himself,
As his hand reaches out for the telephone


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Before you can say "yaarige yen paapa madithiyo ?!" , this is just an exaggeration of some events that *may* have happened with me ;-)

regards,
Prem

A Snap at the Horizon...

I am not sure what inspired the thought behind this poem... The least I could do is capture the haze :)

In a quick flash, the few long decades have passed by him,
He sits there, in the shadows of the twilight, so dim...
A feeling, having travelled far, is cast in his weary eyes,
Of being in the same space and time as an infant, that cries.

He tries to focus, on the rising discomfort in the sound,
But resigns to the inarticulate pain by which, even he is bound.
Sneering at the ways of life, the vetaran inspires my lines...
That have flavours of young purple grapes and old red wines!

His loose skin with an etched display of veins and wrinkles,
Is as soft as that of a baby, then tight, now has crinkles.
Now, a worn-out cap, hides it and the yearly strands of losses,
That, when in the mother's hand, had promises of wild tresses.

A smile that comes by, quite often, with a proud pink display,
Comes now, but rarely, dotted and dull- a defeated white foray.
He walks with help, his tired limbs bearing the slighted weight,
Like the start, with a crawl, a wall, a fall and the ways of fate...

The youthful gather around a child, with their happiness to lease,
While he spends his time, with the newspaper,worries and memories.
An attention-seeker then, and now vainly seeks attention again...
Voices seek ears with the eagerness of words sought by a pen...

The routine of sleep, massages, admirers and scheduled lactic feed,
Is much like the timely tonic, tablets, capsules and their breed...
A colourful cushion at this moment, under twinkling stars at night,
At the other end of the spectrum is hospitable, but in blended white!

Strange ways of beginning from the end or ending where we started,
In the cycle of meeting ourselves at crossings where we parted,
Frame the riddles of life that are farfetched even for the wise...
Does just a snap at the horizon ever tell the sunset from sunrise?

ನೆನಪು...

ನೆನಪು...

ಗುಡುಗು ಮಿಂಚುಗಳ ಹಿಮ್ಮೇಳದಲ್ಲೊಂದು ಮಳೆಯಾಯ್ತು
ಸ್ಫಟಿಕ ಮಣಿಗಳೇ ಒಟ್ಟು ಸೇರಿ ಮಳೆಹನಿಯಾದಂತಿತ್ತು

ಧೂಳಲ್ಲಿ ಮಿಂದೆದ್ದ, ಒಣಗಿ ಒರಟಾದ
ಮರ-ಗಿಡಗಳ ಮೇಲೂ ಮಳೆ ಬಿತ್ತು...

ಆ ದೊಡ್ದ ಮರದ, ಮುದುಡಿದ-ನಿಸ್ತೇಜ
ನಿಶ್ಶಕ್ತ ಎಲೆಗಳ ಮೇಲೂ ಮಳೆ ಬಿತ್ತು...

ಪ್ರತಿ ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಗೂ ಪ್ರತಿಸ್ಪಂದಿಸಿ
ಒಂದೊಂದು ಎಲೆಯೂ ಪುಳಕಿತಗೊಂಡಿತು!

ಕ್ಷಣಮಾತ್ರದಲ್ಲಿ ತಾನು ತೊಯ್ದ ಮರದ
ನೆನಪೂ ಎಲ್ಲದೆ ಮಳೆ ಮಾಯವಾಯ್ತು...

ಮಳೆ ನಿಂತು ಭುವಿ ಒಣಗಿಯೂ ಅಯ್ತು
ಮತ್ತೆಲ್ಲೋ ಮೋಡ ಕಟ್ಟಿ ಮಳೆಯಾಗಿಯೂ ಆಯ್ತು!

ಆದರೂ ಅದೊಂದು ಹುಚ್ಚು ಮರ
ಇನ್ನೂ ಆ ಮರದ ನೆನಪಿನಲ್ಲಿದೆ..

ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಗಳ ಎಲೆ-ಎಲೆಯಲಿ ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ್ಟು
ನೆನಪುಗಳ ಹೀರುತಿದೆ...

ಆಗೊಮ್ಮೆ ಈಗೊಮ್ಮೆ ಹನಿ ತೊಟ್ಟಿಕ್ಕುತ್ತಿದೆ
ಈಗದು ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಯಲ್ಲ..ಮರದ ಕಂಬನಿಯಾಗಿದೆ!

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna...

Sometimes I have goose bumps thinking about the intensity of purpose that people must have had during our freedom struggle... I pulled this out of the Wiki...

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna is a poem by Ramprasad Bismil. It is an emotion-evoking ode to the revolutionaries of the Indian Independence Movement. It goes as follows:

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai
Karta nahin kyun doosra kuch baat cheet,
Dekhta hun main jise voh chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar,
Ab teri himmat ka charcha ghair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Waqt aanay dey bata denge tujhe aye aasman,
Hum abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil mein hai
Khainch kar layee hai sab ko qatl hone ki ummeed,
Aashiqon ka aaj jumghat koocha-e-qaatil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udhar,
Aur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar.
Khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se,
Sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se.
Aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe qafan,
Chaahatein liin bhar liye lo bhar chale hain ye qadam.
Zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inquilaab,
Hosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj.
Duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazuay qaatil mein hai.

This is probably not the exact arrangement of verses as Bismil wrote them, though these are all his words. Some verses of this poem were also featured in the 2006 Hindi movie Rang De Basanti Following lines are also a part of the original poem.

Yoon khara maqtal mein qatil keh raha hai baar-baar,
Kya tamanna-e-shahaadat bhi kisi ke dil mein hai.

Weather babies...

When I was here in Tokyo last December it was freezing cold... and I penned this down on a Saturday at work...

She looks dull, hurt and cold from the high sky,
Turns away from her earthlings down here, who cry,
Pray she lets her Son shine warm for a while,
So her weather-babies, down here may flash a smile!

I am here again in August, there are beautifully wet mornings ...and the most ornate umbrellas... I penned this one down on a lazy Saturday at home...

The cloudy eyes, the brimming gloom to tear down soon...
And we dance in merriment of the skies' impending boon!
When we look up puzzled at her, as she begins to cry,
She sprinkles on our blushing cheeks, her tears of joy!

For all the weather babies like me... Megha

If

Rudyard Kipling
If

If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

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I had printed this out and put it up in my cubicle at work . This is what I had aspired to be and still am....

Abou ben Adam

The first poem I ever recited... still hoping angel wrote my name too :)

Abou ben Adam (may his tribe increase!)
awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
an angel, writing in a book of of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adam bold,
And to the Prescence in the room he said:
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?"said Abou, "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great awakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben adam's name led all the rest.

- Leigh Hunt