Monday, November 3, 2008

The past.. and the present

4 posts down and i feel like taking them off .. even if i know there aren't many people who read my blog.. (nor do i want them 2) neither is every sentence scrutinized by journos for possible masala nor are there hopes of that ever happening unless i get murdered aarushi-style or go on a shooting spree making my blog come under the self styled sleuths' lens for a possible psychopathic streak...
Still,every word written in the past smells stale,as if it's soiled with the dust of the past.. 

The poems more so.. A poem is like a piece of art,to paint one you have to purge yourself of all the petty irrelevant unimportant  rigmarole of day to day activities and yet look beneath all that to find that common thread incessently running underneath and spinning into purposes,feelings,ideals...

Sunken,Betrayed and thrown asunder;
I climbed the highest branch to end it there
A beautiful poem etched on the leaves
It stopped me
held me enthralled
And then floated away into the mist
It's beauty had me spellbound
And all this while it had kept singing,
"I am the poem of your life,
personified I am you;
My beauty is you 
just open your eyes 
and you'll see me within you."

When i look back at every poem I've ever written,at first read it seems unintelligible.. and i can fully understand if anyone else cant understand what I've tried to say (and that perhaps is the beauty of it,it reveals itself only to those who understand.. ).. But gradually,tracing back memories.. reaching the same mental frame of mind.. being faced with the same dilemmas,the same questions,the same frustrations.. and it all begins to unfold like the opening of flower petals at dawn..

I know you're there
hidden perhaps
underneath figures and facts
or smothered by  tears that are rare,
though still there
or choked beneath the moments of a happy spring
or concealed under the yellow jaded autumn twigs
I know u're there
and will always be
even if it's rare

Before i stop,my last advice to myself :

You are a flowing river
that bears all it gets
And all it can take
Until the memoirs of the past 
get too heavy to bear
Then you cry tears of parting
of severing the ties
with the beautiful memories
But you flow on..

P.S. This post was meant to be prose

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