shaken awake

this wet June morning

rudely shaken awake on bed

on lips, Guru’s mantras

mind in fear of the earth’s trap

trembling hands pulling up pants

outside - unusual

empty of people and dogs

parked cars - calm, still

my fear gradually settling

wondered what news on tv

for a moment

no news – uneasy feeling

we waited, staring

at the screen, news channel on

seemed like a pretty long wait

and then “earthquake”

“in Assam,” India News said

our minds travelled

wondering about the east

yes tremors felt, no damage

a gallery of photographs

another Haibun attempt...

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I am at a gallery of photographs…of events. I quickly notice two broad categories. One has everything in order, can’t make out if people are happy or not, enjoying or not. The other is chaotic, full of laughter, people appear to be having fun.

I imagine randomly selected photographs displayed on tables in a classroom. I wonder if they’d work as stimuli for discussion among students. Would it inspire learning? Would teaching sparkle? 

a gallery walk

stories looming large, flowing deep

my mind travels

so she took a ride

She lived in a concrete jungle –

a mundane life

duty bound

devoid of passion.

She was bored

cold

stiff

as if her soul had been sucked out of her.

From her bedroom window,

she would often stare

at the mountain tops;

they seemed to beckon to her.

She heard the whistling winds

whisper messages into her ear;

and when the sky was a clean blue canvas,

she read notes being painted on it.

They were invitations!

Those were the moments she cherished -

her boredom forgotten

un-cold-ed

un-stiff-ed

her soul back in safe haven.

Words came easy -

flowing gently on paper;

her mind singing,

her soul dancing.

And then she’d be engulfed

by the concrete jungle;

her cherished moment frozen.

Change was just an oscillation

between these moments;

and liberation

a mirage in the desert.

So, she took a ride -

the winding roads

forested roadsides

scarce settlements

all feeding her soul.

It was the beginning of her journey to liberation.

She takes a blade

I attempted this Haibun (combination of two poems - a prose poem and haiku, popularized by the 17th century Japanese poet Matsuo Basho) not long ago after watching the movie 'Hemlock Society.'

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She takes a blade. Her hands shake, as she sobbingly holds it above her wrist. Her hair, her clothes, are all wet from standing under the shower. Her tears flow in unison with the water, unabated. She is heartbroken! Her man has been caught kissing another girl.

The blade failing its business, she curls up in bed. Her sobs won't stop. She feels hurt. She feels anger. She hears screams inside her head.

Restless, she stands on her bed, shirking off her feelings in ugly vigorous gestures. Off her bed, she throws every object in sight, her screams muffled. What else can she do?

Dying is her only option at this moment of despair. The blade fails her, so she schemes another way of ending her deeply felt unbearable sorrow. Next moment, she is at the door of her father’s place, ringing the doorbell anxiously.

 

the moon half smiles – at

a distance, a shadow-dance

her heartbeat racing

today - one such day

Today –

one such day –

that I hope…

when I look up at the stars

tonight

my wish will be granted…

like sugar icing is sprinkled on cake

coriander on salad

masala on curry

paint on canvas

water on soil

words on paper

and there’s a song of joy -

the joy of being a joy.

Everybody has a wish -

once in a while - don’t we?

What makes one undeserving?

I cannot bring myself to think;

I can only imagine the stars being pleased.

Perhaps I think kindly of them.

Yet it’s not that my heart doesn’t sing -

the song of joy –

that springs from my garden of gratitude

of being alive and living

budding, blooming

budding again, blooming again;

a life akin to flowers,

but more than flowering.

Perhaps,

it’s just a fancy passing thought –

wishing for the stars’ favour

as if they had every reason to

and I was the Chosen One.

When I see the stars –

the way they shine so bright –

they appear to smile at me

and I’m pleased

like a little child given a lollipop.

I smile back – a child’s smile, I’m sure –

a musical flutter in my heart…

like a butterfly’s landing on a flower.

But who’s to stop this mind of mine

from turning to the stars,

pleading?

It’s nature’s gift,

my hope natural -

my wish to be granted

and to think the stars

will do the honours.

Who doesn’t have a wish?

Everybody does.

I do too.

For me to say I don’t,

I would have to bury myself

deep down,

underground,

where I can be quietened,

my mind shut down.

Now, THAT I wouldn’t wish

- ever!

This earth holds us for a reason

that I must honour –

the least I can do.

But today –

one such day –

that I have this wish,

the reason is beyond reasoning.

I shall wait for the stars

to paint the sky

tonight -

like any other night –

my wish to be granted,

that I can unfalteringly

breathe out happiness

to de-pollute the air

of anger and hatred.

Tomorrow,

perhaps you see me dance

more merrily?