About me

A mother, wife and civil servant, a conscientious citizen and patriot ----- my abiding love for books has made me try my hand at writing poetry, none of which is anything but the strictly spontaneous outpouring of a mind that prizes truth and harmony, above all else.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

september



September was special
but that was eons ago
when my birthday was
a celebration
for those who
had seen me grow
from a sickly child
to a studious teen
who steadfastly fulfilled
her family's dreams
(her own remained
a secret buried deep
----
to have someone say
your beauty brightens my day)


now September comes and goes
there is a dinner, a present,
almost always an argument

if it were in my power
I would erase September
as also the pretense.

(priya)
22.9.2015

Sunday, September 13, 2015

shabd

तब बातों में मिठास भी थी
और कहने को बहुत कुछ
अब कोहरे सी घनी ख़ामोशी है
और कुछ ठंडी हवा से सनसनाते शब्द

(priya )

a single flower

a single flower
would suffice
to drench life
forever
in its fragrance
(priya)

green

hues of green
in leaves
and memories
when it rains
(priya)

raah

फूलों से महकती
काँटों से रहित
किसकी है मुन्तज़िर
झोंका ठंडी हवा का
कोमल स्पर्श बादल का
पायल की छुन छुन
दीवाने दिल की छड़कन
निराश राही का पड़ाव
दिल से निकली दुआ
कहीं ऐसा तो नहीं
इस राह को भूल चुकी है दुनिया
(priya)

kindred

the cuckoo calls
my heart responds with
unbounded gaiety
if we were kindred meant
to be
why do we destroy their worlds
so recklessly
(priya)

father



for my beloved father
if i could
would i have you
return to life
the crinkled smile in your eyes
the tweed coat in winters smelling
of the daily , just one peg
of whisky
the devdas songs hummed
oh so soulfully
the love poured into the gajar
halwa that you stirred
for hours to get it
"just right"
the admonitions to wrap myself
in one more layer
even when I was
bundled up
as if an eskimo
stepping out into an icy night
the camaraderie that never failed
even when other relationships
did
and i cried on your shoulder
and found respite
the constant urging to do better, yet better
that has brought me to a place
where I can step up and say
papa, I am your daughter
and feel a surge of pride

oh yes oh yes oh yes
(priya)

violet



today I choose violet
and ask myself
if the world were black and white
would it still be an enchanting sight

or if only violet were absent
would it make a difference
there are the violet flowers I see
on the neighbour's pretty trellis
sometimes the sky turns a pale violet
when yellows, oranges and reds merge at sunset
meadows abloom with flowers are pink and yellow and white
rarely are violet flowers one's object of delight
between radiant red and shrinking violet
I would choose the red any day
Violet neither excites, nor soothes an anxious heart
Tell me, if you can, its dull or somber part.
(priya)

memories

memories
that walk
with me so
that i cannot say
is this or that
reality
(priya)

hope

storms that are past
and those to come
look puny and remote
when the mind is strong
and the heart beats
to the lilting rhythm of hope
(priya)

despair

Sometimes it seems
That He does not hear
Your prayers and lamentations
The slender thread that is Hope
begins to wear thin
and you watch with a despairing resignation
It is then that He smiles
And enters your life
As a stranger or a patron or
A friend
Hope gets strengthened again
and you know He is never too far away
(priya)

silence

when did you last hear
plain unvarnished silence
not the silence of soft
music playing from hidden corners
or the silence of an office
where the machines work silently
i don't even mean the silence
of switched off televisions and phones
no, not the silence of a home
where everyone is tucked in
their beds, in deep sleep
I don't allude to the silence of
lofty mountain tops, nor to
the silence of still blue lakes
forests are silent at night but
that is not the silence I have in mind
sometimes the house is silent during
the day, the chores done, the children
boisterous in school
there are train journeys at night that
make you think, is this silence , as
the train passes so smoothly over the dark rails
that there is merely a whisper and a whoosh
sometimes, friends share a coffee in
a quiet barista at noon, sitting in silence
but that is not what I mean either
not even the silence of lovers who stroll
hand in hand down the beach
on a dark and balmy night
or the mother rocking her child gently to sleep
the silence of a poet hunched over his notebook
scribbling away ? no ! and No also to the sweep of the brushes
that fill a canvas with colour while the picture is still
only in the mind's eye
the curly haired child snuggled up with his dog ?
or the silent solitary walk of the grey haired
elder at dawn ?? No !
I refer to the silence of the uncluttered mind
the mind empty of all thoughts
all ambitions
all designs
all pain
all greed
all questions
all grief
the silence of the mind that knows, I am,
and that is enough
(priya)

sunlight

sunlight falls gently
upon closed eyelids
I rise from dreams
and Life awakens
if there were darkness always
would I know the difference
perhaps, there is no difference
between the sleeping and the waking state
the one as real as the other
though we choose to set store by the latter
(Priya)

anew

Life begins anew
every day
It does not ask you
your age
Or what happened yesterday
(priya)

nice

If I had my way
- - - perhaps I will some day
The impossible happens
At least, it is known to happen
Though I have but dreamt of it
But rag pickers become millionaires
And icons lay bare their feet of clay
So it may happen that I have my way
To prohibit ban excise forever
From all speech written and oral
One word, but one word , so
That it does not even remain a memory
And ceases to torture those like me
Who feel - - nice? Could there be a word more bereft of meaning
There is good and there is excellent
There is joy and there is exultation
There are sorrow and misery and renunciation
People are loving or deceitful or full of enchantment
The sunrise is glorious sunset is resplendent
The sea roars or is soothingly silent
The wind blows fiercely at times
And at others is but a gentle breeze
The world is radiant or full of mystery
Fortune favours or ill favours but is never quiescent
Please oh please drop NICE from the vocabulary!
(priya)

grief

oh the sharpness of grief
slicing through memories
till the rawness is laid bare
bloodied, bittersweet
(priya)

walk away

and what if you fall in love
and realise
the story is destined for an
early demise
do you walk away
and save your heart
for another day
or do you risk the
heartache
because loving is losing
---losing bits of your self ----
anyway
(priya)

circles

i live my life
you live yours
i have my freedom
you have yours
love cannot be a prison
i passionately exclaim
you nod in agreement
and i am taken in
years pass before i realise
our lives are concentric circles
--- yours contains mine
(priya)

pot of gold

there i go again
chasing a rainbow
though i know
i never will find
the pot of gold
why do I not
for once
love a caterpillar
perhaps it will linger
chasing butterflies
is a fool's errand
too.
(priya)

eloquence

eloquence can be
its own punishment
had i not voiced my fears
you would have still been here
to argue, to tease
to cajole, to please
to write me a poem
to sing me a paean
there I go again
letting words carry me away
please take this curse off me
with words i wish no felicity
(priya)

in and out

falling out of love
is so much easier
than falling in love
that it hits you
like a tonne of bricks
only when you fall
in love again
and ask, surprised,
what happened
to the love
of my life?
(priya)

endings

and thus it ends
a tear rolling down
into silence.
(priya)
13.9.2015

Sunday, September 6, 2015

betwixt now and then

the sight from the french windows
is a pretty one , I know
the golden yellow of the laburnum
the pretty pink of the madhumalti
the spiky aloe vera coming along fine
as are the slender green chillies
the trailing lengths of the syngonium
the orange blooms of the cactii
the sweet basil not quite straight and tall
I had placed it in the shade mistakenly
I think I"ll draw the curtains and inhale the beauty
dust to dust, but betwixt now and then, there's much to do and see

prejudice

the white speckled orange vase
that holds the lilies white
would be a lovely sight

were it not for the vivid
green of the lily's leaves
that quite subdue
the white and orange hues

or so i thought
till i looked again
and found a harmony
that had quite eluded me
till i put my prejudices aside.

so it is with life.

sorrow

what does one do with days
that stretch from sleep to sleep
and hazy in betweens
and one doesn't quite know whether 
one's weeping in sleep 
or sleeping in a sea of tears 
or even exists at all, amidst all the grief
its all a phantasmagoria
of sorrows past and present
of people lost and gone
of memories that throb with life
although your brain is comatose
you grapple with loud sounds
and harsh lights and smells that 
over power and spin you into a faint
you never quite recover from
and everything looks unreal, tinged
with unbearable pain so that you
so don't want to reach and touch
but want only to curl into a ball
that rolls down green meadows
and strikes tall trees
and falls into the brook 
and gets carried down into the sea