which want wanted which wasted ? / living in the past

What words were written
never known never know
thoughts toil, tumble through,
cough clamour coil crash

which want wanted which wasted ?
erratic energy expended, end-lessly examined

untitled

Come we alone, alone go on
In this big river with many a men
The small wake that's left astern
Is not meant to come any back,

Make it of love, my lone friend,
let the music of love awake you
every day, thus forever cleansed  ...

The Why of Shit that happens / First Heartbreak's (mild) PTSD ...

Some philosophers toil for
The Why of What's out there,
The primal cause.

That is because
sitting on an armchair
is eminently relaxing,
moreover indulgent confusion
can be forgotten for a while ...

But what is In here
Is here and dealing with it
does not at all mean that
Shit may not hit the fan,

Man may forget that's all --
the Why of What happens ...
What is that ? Get it ?
Forget, not try Get, I beg me,
Not Got mostly begets
Regrets.


-------------------------------
-------------------------------

Direct Sermonizing :

In some lucky cases,
Getting gets regretfully forgotten,
If Man is wise and lucky,
Getting is gently never forgotten.

An answer to Rabbi's "why create, just be" based on personal tragedies

Just being by oneself
Being now very painful,
Every other thing that be
Bringing that what was
sometime recently past
a coupled mode of being -- in love
e.g. with your songs --
into a stark relief of what was
and is painfully not.

Therefore create,
to create a healthier escape plan
from being in pain, not caring
for the time being at least
that eventually to be with it
better be becoming.

"running away"

The poet may hold
a simple word or two
and be wrung in to opposites.

Like running away to the future,
to the words that may bring erasure
-- if not new hope --

running away from the words
in the same heartbroken beat, from the past,
to hide the melancholia
from the kind page
that wears no mask.



--------------------------------


The poet may hold
a simple word or two
and be wrung in to opposites.

Like running away to the future,
to the words that may bring erasure
-- if not new hope --

running away from the words
in the same tearing heartbeat, from the past,
to hide the melancholia
from the kind page
that wears no mask.

PS : Writing "heartbroken" is a little heartbreaking. But it is also a form of acknowledgement.

Untitled

What a grand flight it was my darling
Remember the daring, when all was light, when all was bright

What a grander fall it was my beloved
Heard no thud, no one bled, heart's messed up is all.


---

7th june 14, tifr mumbai

unfeeling sadness and its recognition

Cute little hearts together
on top of the pretty cappuccino
smashed by the swirl of the spoon
to a static photo of Chaos.

Lack of power to undo histories
leads often to despair.
Sometimes to melancholic acceptance.

Or
to a crusty, unfeeling muteness
that presents the semblance of healing.

At the end though,
the cappuccino finished
its pleasures somewhere dissipated,
Moving about becomes indispensable.

Roadside Winter-night Observation in Toulouse

Remember the god who shouldered the whole world ?

So too appeared the man who
- borrowing briefly the resilience of steadiness -
pedaled on slowly through the fog
into the lonesome wintry night,
And the calm woman on the seat behind,
who held him.
Together they kept the spokes of the world turning that night
giving some image to the one sad in love to hold on to ...

Someone or the other
Will keep carrying the weight of our lives.


-------------------------

Tlse, main road near Carmes stop

Dealing with Depression / Do you believe in true love ?

An aphorism on the Internet had pronounced
"We hear the melody when happy;
we hear the lyric when not"
INCOMPLETE ....
the happy tune of course plays happily
and with us when we are happy;
the sad song brings the sad news
of our sadness like pieces of headlines or trenchant op-eds;
its melody haunts

but for completeness ...
a sad song is sometimes acknowledged when happy;
a happy song is like an unbecoming mirage
that our eyes hear through the mist
when they are sad.

Look at me, even sadness
has become a thesis of an emotion.

Perhaps then, sadness is born
in the gap of love and love's-lost.

If so true, it soon follows that
true sadness born in the gap of true love and love's-lost
will have to be borne

Isn't it, my friend ?




------------------------------------------

Oct' 13 :

For G

She unwittingly honours me
By choosing me to tell her
What nature tells her everyday.
That she is so very beautiful,
from her head foremost,
through her gentle bosom
and graceful hands
that can make beauty itself,
her smooth skin and stomach,
her back made for beauty,
through her slender legs and more,
all the way to her toenails.
She is my beautiful one.




-----------------------

6/Jul/13 Toulouse
23 Blvd du Strasbourg

Untitled

the blind couple in love
nursed broad smiles under the sun,
stumbled along gracefully
on a busy rainy day
learnt that love is a lesson
that carries one all the way ...

तुझ बिन जीना भी क्या जीना ?

Voice of so many ages cried
what is living when life is
without you,
my love.

The pain that was the question
carried me beyond poetry
to the answer.

Living without you
is impossible
even if is chosen
this beautiful life,
even if is chosen
happy tears, sad smile.

My love,
living without you
is unbearably impossible,
that living with you
And your absences is inevitably
Inevitable.



--------------------------------------------------


.
Toulouse
June/July '12

A good advice to the quarreling lover

Be a man and step up
to the absurd

Thus will transform
the quiet, hale tautologies
to reinforcing, hearty emotion.

Remember though
The absurd through anger
Will bake crazed, uneven ridiculous.

Only through tenderness
Will the man in love
Become a man elevated

to love.

I embrace you absurdity,
my long lost friend.




---------------------------------------

Oct '11 in front of the lovely angel and soldier in Philly 30th street station
Thanks to Mukti M. for the advice

For G

I want to kiss you;

few words go through
these limbs that miss you,
too short too few.


---------------------

Nov-Dec' 11, Toulouse

For G

Chewing fluffy misery,
few small disappointments
stuck in the gut,
forgot today
real happiness is a mouthful away.

When you come happy I become happy.






-------------------------------------


 Nov '11, Tlse

For G

What has been said before, there's a great lot of it,

And a lot that is great, greatness being like myth

Helping us live, helping us love.

Therefore, the little that I have to say

Need not be said. Yet I'll celebrate anyway !

And what I have to say is not that true love is great,

Nor that love surprises in many ways, and that we may too

Surprise it. It is that in love, the surprises form their own tune and song,

Their own dance. And when the many little songs were tentative, the many steps

Guarded, that little extra time spent anchoring later came to this mind

As warmth in guise of surprise. As would a calm sunny sea after

A stormy sailing on the way to a lucky Paradise.




---------------------------------

Written sometime during Summer '11. definitely before sept.

For G

O What have I done ! What have I done !
To thy happy soul freely flying,
Flying as it was like that butterfly
Until I became a dead lead weight,
And not an anchor that you hoped for,
To which you tied your hopes to.

Time and Understanding will
Will swiftly grind me to dust.
I hope I can become
To your now hurt pretty wing
A little adornment when you'll soar,
And not a toxin that posions only more
with Time.

Dear friend, you're blessed
With that precious commodity.
And whatever learnings
A breaking heart might offer,
They should not be weighed,
If I can help it,
In your sanguinity.




-------------------------------------------

PS : sometime in Sept-Oct 11