Evening Poems

(these are not my words. this are shadows from 'GRACE'.)

Here, dear, here,
In this evening light which makes these woods disconsolate,
I sing hymns of divine condolence.
Flowers of final sunrays are engulfed
In the vagrant waves of sea…
Where they go?
Where?

Epileptic seizure

But doctor tell me what was it? He kept asking this repeatedly. At last doctor said, “You had epileptic seizure.” He could not believe in what he heard. He had just fainted by acute pains he had when nurse removed vein flow. “But I had such experiences before. I lied down for half an hour, ate something and everything was fine. I didn’t even chew my tongue, cried, or yelled. Why are you naming it seizure and extending my hospitalization?” his questions were filled completely by surprise and frustration he is feeling right at this moment.
“ It would have been severe is you would have bitten your tongue. Seizures can be of various types. You had one and as you are telling you had few before.” Doctor calmly replied, with added determination to avoid this patient.
He thought of his childhood and youth, which were constrained by his weak body. Since last few days, he was feeling that he has passed those limits and he is really living. He cannot imagine next every day, moment of his life shaded by uncertainty of being weak, being dependent. He sighed and tears almost rolled down his eyes. It seems that he is like a helpless small tree in the road, waiting to die by a storm.
“but why you are so dull? You have to take medicines and rest. You will be fine” Doctor tried to bring him in good spirits.
“Huh, what is use of such life, doctor? I am always shaded by one or another fear. I hate such life.”
Doctor knew him for last 10 years. They know it is difficult to console him by any argument. He thought of tried something else.
“You must be thinking that how can you have epilepsy at this age and not since childhood. However, it can happen. I had my first seizure a month back, in this cabin. But I am fine now. You can be same. Come on! It is not the end.”
His face lit. He left room with hope to have bright tomorrow.
Doctor sat on the chair and sighed. Suddenly he thought about lie he had just used. He felt a tension in his legs. He stretched his legs or did they get stretched itself. He felt something revolving around or inside his head. He is viewing so many images and listening to so many voices in his head. He is just forgetting where he is, what is the time and what is happening with him. Sweat covered his face and a light kept appearing in front of his closed eyes…what is it?

night among stars

when you sleep with your back to cold, pleasant earth and your eyes fixed somewhere among the stars, you know that either you are feeling happy without any bound or you are out of yourself.
still you sleep like that. because you want to be so unknown to you, that even you won't be able to identify yourself. such un-identity is difficult. and that's why one sleeps under the stary sky with cool wind around and memories, imaginations storming in the head and some unknown pressure mounting on you, trying to crash you down.
but then why you sleep watching stars? one can sleep putting his head under the pillow. one can get drunk or one can let loose oneself with someone dear. no! one doesn't do these things when one doesn't even know what is it. there is nothing to tell, nothing to hide, nothing to repent and even nothing to ask for. what is it!
may be it is space and time around yourself which is not yours. and, hence one has to look into stars. they are there. some are at one place for ages. some are moving slowly. some are not even known. some are frequent visitors. and, they too don't have time space of themselves.
what you do when you feel like part of big giant machine, following it's laws without any attention to small lives which don't want to be ruled? what you feel when you see your actions are unwanted, meaningless or responseless in the environment? what if you feel that you are just product of actions and decisions taken in your absence?
you do nothing! because you can not. you go. you try all your means to console yourself, you try to erect yourself, you try to fight, you try to feel totally devastated, and nothing works. some sparks of life remaining can't let you die, they can't let you give up. so you do nothing but you sleep with your back to cold, pleasant earth and your eyes fixed somewhere among the stars.

Company

he was astonished to see what he has to walk in next few days. though he had enough harsh life before, he felt this might be last and first task which he wouldn't be able to complete. he waited, not under any shade because there was nothing. he tried to see as long as he can. some mirages flashed in front of his eyes, but till wherever he sees, it was endless desert. he has map, he has food, he knows where he can get water. still one dark, deep and dull feeling of hopelessness filled him. he closed his eyes, heard his deep breath until he heard something different than wind blowing and his breaths.
he saw another traveler. he or she? it was she. she was waring blue clothes, right from her head to toes. only life which was revealed was her eyes, fathomless. she asked, "should we start walking?" he responded with a brief grim and somehow started walking.
they were walking for last many days. they walk together, eat together, sit at each others side. talk about what life they had and their perceptions for life. at some nights, when moon was at it's best magic and chilling wind made them impossible to forget rhythms of their bodies, they searched themselves through each other. she was traveling to meet someone in the city which was at the other end of desert. he had forgotten hollow feelings he had at the start of the journey. he has put dreams in place of understanding. he has started painting images with words and illusions. desert often has such effect.
one day, both of them saw buildings of city where they were heading. this was going to be last walk of the journey. he has written a letter for her. they kept walking. last walks are bound to be nostalgic. her voice trembled. sometimes her fingers caught hold of her hand, as if she is never going to leave it. he recalled all those evenings and nights, laughs and silences, responses and quarrels. they reached from where they have to move on their own path.
and, now he looked at her. he was shocked. her eyes were exactly as they were when he first saw her. she cleared some sand on her clothes. he felt like one of those sand particles. she has removed desert, sand and him, within that moment. he was amazed and yet, he felt, this has to be like this.
they wished best life ahead to each other. they started walking on thier paths, now alone. he looked back. she wasn't anywhere in the sight. he looked back to desert. the point where he started was long back as if it was not there.

Walk in the morning , sleep in the eyes

The whole reason to keep myself wake up through out the night is friend going to home for week long holidays. It started with foul try to have few hours sleep in the account. Desire to talk as much as I can before friend leaves and similar condition at other end scattered all plans to sleep on time and wake up early. So it was long talk, some irrational silences and then brief walks. Soon both realized that words and phrases, proverbs and quotes are not going to fill up vacuum of life. But, somehow, conversation ended on some optimistic note and ended with ‘to be continued’..
Then within hour I, my friend and one other friend took auto to reach domestic airport. It is 4.15 A.M. rickshaw driver was ready and quick as he has realized potential night charge augmented large fair. So in 20 minutes, we reached airport. I was first time at airport. And thoughts occurring in my mind were of socialist shade. I felt all those illuminated structures, well planned buildings as some unnecessary obstacles in peace that city needs urgently. Around airport, even at this time, was rush of vehicles, travelers, cab and rickshaw drivers. I bid good bye to my friends and started walking back to my place. I was wondering on how easily my friends have paid rickshaw fair( RS.120). so watching all the vibrancy around me, I took my road back. The last sign I remember was vehicles full of on average fat people, eager to reach their destinations and blue collar airport workers( one of them asked me for tea shop, old one, who should have retired by now).
I had money in pocket. I could have caught rickshaw. My legs were not so fresh. Not even I had minute of sleep in the night. I was feeling hunger. Still, I waited near airport( apparently for bus, but it was wrong time to wait for bus, scarce commodity at 5A.M.). then I found one sign board indication nearest railway station. I started walking to this new contemporary destination. On both sides of the road, I noticed large number of ATM centers. And as a byproduct of heavy transactions made in these centers, remaining part of street was filled with shops and clinics. I had enlightenment that all these envy feelings I was having for people who can spend money fluently was outcome of me being poor. Eureka! Eureka!!
Street was not lonely. Paper boys, morning walkers and rickshaw drivers were part of street life at that time. I passed through them. I climbed up Station Bridge and while getting in the train, I had realization of being ticket less. Next surprise was I was not panic at all. I sat coldly, started enjoying morning breeze (enough chill, even in March), put earphones and started playing FM radio. It was local FM channel and it had some spiritual songs. (I listened as I was listening anything in my mothertounge after many days) like spiritual things are, it was about how one should live life and how this life is worthless compare to how divine it can be. So I forgot my worthless worry of being ticket less in some spirituality.
Got down at home station. No bus waiting for me. so started my march. (by this time, these words had started their life). I walked watching people, sleeping buildings and yawning homes. I walked half the road. I was tired now. Acidity and hunger both striking inside. Yet, I had energy to think and to write. Some nice songs were played by FM channel. Meaning in those songs were simple, but it matched with my mood, my walk and my view.
My friend had checked in, sat in the plane and will fly soon. A sms with some probable future behavior alerted me on my phone. I am not in anything now. Morning has made me light and yet, I am not floating. Thoughts are keeping me tangent to mother earth, or normal.
I could have caught rickshaw and reached my place without anything of these. Then I would’t have played simulation of future career best performance in my head. Nor I had proved my pro-poor life theory once again.
But I watched people. People traveling in cool cabs and ac cars, boys on bicycle to distribute newspapers an milk bags, rickshaw and taxi drivers, office folk. I watched people paying hundreds and thousands easily and I watched people walking kilometers as they had nothing in pocket. What does all this mean? A mere pleasure game of thoughts, some spark of action leading to ultimate frustration or just an observation? I hand over my questions to you and go for some sleep. I have to walk again….

Reminiscence of a rare morning

Sometimes you diverge from predefined path. You have in mind consequences of such divergence. But what turns out of that change of decision is something you had wished to experience, but remained unaccomplished.
So it is about morning, it is about realization of a poem which is part of hidden corners of heart and it is rare concurrence with sense of beauty. I had planned to get down at dadar. I had sufficient amount of baggage with me to keep me worrying throughout the time I was in local train. The crowd at the door of local training, waiting with practiced eagerness to get down at dadar, confirmed my fear. I could have easily got down with crowd, but then shapes and sizes of food items I had would have became drastically different from what they used to be. So I did some tome management calculations in mind, estimated the risk of being caught by ticket checker at station and decided to get down at next station. And with some surprise, after 10 minutes of this decision, I found myself out of Bhyakhala station, safe with my belongings and unchecked for ticketless travel. So I had some time in hand and an Irani restaurant in front of my eyes. I sat on those age old wooden chairs, ordered brun maska and tea. That tea fulfilled my sugar requirement for the whole day. I sat in the taxi and said, ‘Mumbai Central Station’.
As soon as I looked out of taxi window, I sensed the morning. Though it is not freezing winter in Mumbai, it is strange mix of chill of passing night and warmth of arriving day. so I sensed spell of nature, compounded by presence of some old British structures and slowly awakening city. I watched restaurants gearing up for daily work, taxis enjoying short-lived spaciousness of roads and people breathing a scarce low-noise walk through the heart of Mumbai. This ambience revived poem which I learnt in the school and from that day, it has settled in mind, in tunes and in walks I had through this city. I chanted those lines and felt that right now, I am part of the picture which has long been solidified in those lines.
(Then it was scribbling in the pages, trying to translate words in marathi to English and at the end, realizing inability of my words and distinct beauty that each language caries.)

So, now morning has lost into the pool of people in the local. Yet, through limited canvas of window, I feel, golden, warm rays of sun, just arrived on daily duty. I sense structures, modern and age old, yawning as they are awaking. My eyes holds image of old sturdy church, which once used to be tallest in the surroundings, trying to spell its holy spirit on flux of life around it. My nostrils keep smell of early morning, mixed with soft sea breeze and mid-work talks of tea and milk vendors. In ears, I preserve songs of birds, dissolved in horns and cries and fading into emerging chaos. I live all this; I feel it is passing through me. At the same time, I grasp sense of joy, silence and sorrow for this time, which is merging into faceless, huge and dry tide of crowd.
I am storing in my words, I am storing it in my senses and I am passing on my feelings through this city, that this morning should get imprinted on the palms of new born baby and some of its uncaptured dimensions will get life through those hands, in which future still sleeps.

when dream disappears

i woke up in the morning and
soon realize that my dream is missing...
i search around, and i found traces of its sudden but certain disappearance.
i cry, then i think, i console myself,
that no loss is ultimate.
the whole day, my eyes tried,
but in vain, friends, my dream disappeared.

i heard my steps singing a song,
i read poems walking beside me.
i talked even with breeze
and i shared my secrets even with street-lamps.
dream assured me, that whatever i will do
it will be beautiful.
dream itself told me that it will fade one day,
but it whispered in my ears when i cried at though of its departure,
" when separation is certain,
you can live every moment.
if dream lives forever who will chase it".
i was assured with words
and now, dream has lost and my ears still hears it.

i am not so hurt by the loss,
dreams i have lost before.
i am hurt because
its been long before i had dream.
and, now i fear i will not permit
any dream in future.
dreams compel to live,
and living compel to search for the meaning.
meaning is mirage, but dream is the thirst.
so, as i have lost thirst, why i need water even in mirage.

when dreams die,
they plough new dreams.
but when dream disappears,
it keeps memories.

bye, my dream,
if you see my awaiting eyes,
touch them once more,
i haven't left you yet.............