sheer white rapture

hold it!

2011-09-05T10:13:00.001-07:00

your sadness recedes away from mine, deeper into you
unwilling to be in harmony,
selfish us.

and there is no space for contentment
we are busy jumping from one moment to the next
drowning in the sea of meaningless-ness.

moving to thejinxedone

2011-01-29T07:46:00.000-08:00

I will be hereafter posting solely at http://thejinxedone.blogspot.com, to make the lives of the 1.4 ppl who read this blog a little easier. The literary attempts that would have appeared here would be posted instead under the tag 'poetry' in thejinxedone blog.

cheers

The order

2010-10-24T05:53:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1.
The order

This is a story about a maverick government officer who was unlike any.
He was driven with passion for his pledge not pennies.

A pledge that all took, but few followed
At the feet of powerful did most find grounds hallowed.

The pledge was a looking glass that made everyone seem equal.
And justice was a given, not a mirage of ‘coming soon’ sequel.

But alas, the real world was none too congruent.
And the supposed builders of bridges of equality were playing truant.

When the majority abdicates its duties and a few uphold the ideal,

the mirror of the truth is sought to be sabotaged and its shard are used to kill.

Normality is enforced and differences are annihilated.
Opinions are agreed upon and beamed down into gullible brains emaciated.

The hero of our story was no idealistic zealot
he was just a human, and felt for his lot.
His conscience was not squeaky clean
but questioning that conscience was his daily scene.

It was just one such day, when his boss asked him to go to jungles
he smiled and accepted, while rest of his colleagues mumbled.

For you see, the jungle was uncertain and dark
and had people with differences stark.
They saw no TV and wore no ties
they were happy, and said no lies.

The mainstream were very afraid of them,
for they had hurt the jungle men,
and feared a backlash anytime soon,
but the jungle men were sanguine and never took the way of goons.

Their happiness met with mainstream’s scorn
their peace thwarted with force and brawn.

Our hero was a tehsildar and he thought it his duty to serve the jungle people too
while rest dithered and didn’t approve.

They thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘them’
being both humans, was not enough for them.

They wanted the jungle men to leave the jungle to the corporate
who would kill and maim and extract what was immensurate.

The wood, the life, the soil, the sky
were all but objects ready to fly
to distant shores
for profit of crores
of which jungle men wanted nothing
for these things were not mere ‘things’ for them
These were a living breathing home to them

‘What kind of a person, sells his home and family for a trinket?’ they would ask.
‘What kind of a person, does not sell anything for new shiny things?’ wondered the mainstream.

Drunk on consumption, hazy eyed people
saddled with alien culture, mainstream’s will was a cripple

Having long been slaves to the white men
they knew nothing of will and had dimmed ken

So when our hero left for the jungle,
they hoped for him to make a big bungle.
They feared he would come back alive
and deny them the privilege of righteous malice

(to be continued in chapter 2. 'The journey')

grace

2010-10-17T12:15:00.001-07:00

Hands
Such grace
Creation chose the medium of creativity to be bestowed with such divine grace.
They flow like water, and flap like wings.
They deceive time, and deliver stillness.
They break and they fuse.
They play with air and water, and elements delight in their touch.
They move and they feel.
They are alive.
They are life.
They hold and they love.
They fly and they jump.
They nourish and they punish.
They are us and they are the world.
Our hands are sheer grace.

her pout

2010-01-17T01:30:00.001-08:00

her pout is her hug
and her lips draw blood
stilled in rapture
i laugh out at my dazed-ness
and give up the moment
i had yearned for
all this while...

ego

2009-11-11T10:57:00.000-08:00

every day, an hour before sleep is due
ego deserts me. and i am left lying on the bed
curled up
with unsure thumbs and fingers
twiddling with the cellphone.

the day after,
ego wakes up
with cocky erasure
of memory of ever having felt needy.

ego! you beast!
you deserter!
stay true or let alone.
what good is an undulating pride.
what good is an undulating faith.

breathe

2009-10-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

i am the little air particles
jostling, fighting to be breathed in
by you.

breathe in,

silence
every cell of my body
taught with anticipation.
darkness and questions
groping for the past to bludgeon open the future.

breathe out,

sight of your smile
bellows me upwards in bliss.
i dance and i sing
and i land gently on your skin.
caressed
flooded with love
we are blind to time
finding eternity of bliss in a moment.

for a moment to dissolve into another
for the life on a roll forever
i am the little air particles.

scream and shout

2009-10-07T23:56:00.000-07:00

i want to scream your name out
loud
loud as i can be
to feel it rolling out of my tounge
to feel it leaving my throat dry
my face twitching with anticipation
that my shout may be heard by you
that with every subsequent shout you come closer
until i need to shout no more
whisper no more
until the breaths intertwine and its noise is all we can hear

bastard

2009-09-12T12:48:00.001-07:00

our love
was a bastard child
you were strong
and held your earlier one to your bosom
with strength of mountains

the merry little one
you wish could have
remained in womb
never to come out.

you refuse to kill it
and wish to keep it away
the bastard has a soul too
it would rather die than be orphaned

let it crawl back
into you and dissolve
in your heart
it will be reborn
on the new day
of someone else.

born again

2009-09-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

i tell myself that i
covet you
a disease that can be undone.
but my symptoms
make me fear of something terminal
of love requited
in uncertain measures
and of love in spite.

of possibility that
had been erased
but for the
intertwined lives.

another flower must bloom
on the grave of our memories
i must die
and be born again.

we

2009-08-17T02:58:00.000-07:00

the heart feeds off
the notion of you.
its a parasite
it pumps venomous thoughts into me.
my pride
chisels you off the heart.
flake by dead flake
i am reduced
life less alive.

the present cleaves
the past bounds.

pride can only pry off
so much...
the rotting remains,
the imagined threads
now keep us in a sickly embrace.

tangled and apart.
dark and in limbo.
we, do not make a 'we'.

a part of us buried
slimy, unhappy
its hands trying to grasp
in two different directions.

- Ajinkya Pawar

an episode

2008-12-25T05:24:00.000-08:00

I don't see myself completing this story in near future.. so might as well make good use of this blog. I will post my attempts at poems & literary prose here.

An Episode

My eyes do search for you,
though I wish they wouldn't.
I wish to think of you as the sweet mistake,
I always wanted to make.

Your absence presents me with a certain comfort,
for if you are to be around,
I would rather you be in my arms.
But since that is not to be,
I must sling out of this spiral,
into another one
into other bosoms.

going east

2006-05-05T08:17:00.000-07:00

This blog is to be a repository of my stories.
Here's one, a novella in progress. i hope u dig it.

Chapter 1

Boroks had an amusing job. They had to give heed to any signs of new 'births'. They would scout the new births, feed them their first supper and help them to stand on their feet. It was the only thing they knew to do. They had big ears, round eyes, strong and long arms, wide and stodgy feet and no teeth. They had a mouth but only to yawn. They lived off 'work'. The faster they would work, the more energetic they would feel. A borok confined is a borok dead.

___________

Ardin & anksha - the gods, who created this world, had a tiff when they started with the creation of life forms. Anksha had created a million different kinds of them. He let them loose and would watch them serenely. Ardin would rather have uniformity and consistence. He wanted them all to be the best (most agile, efficient and adapting), in other words - the same. Being his usual mercurial, ardin lashed out at the world with awesome power. But Anksha intervened. Anksha loved his creature too much to let go. He faced the destruction ray instead. Being invincible, he didn’t suffer; however, he lost his balance momentarily. In his efforts to regain balance, he groped for things around him. And then… he held on to the arrow of time. His grip was so tight, and the fall so sharp, that the arrow turned the other way. And the world was never the same again.

___________

Ardin repented for his act and tried to help Anksha, set the world straight. And his first gift was - the boroks.

page2

The sky was a clear, blue, wide expanse of sheer rapture. There was not a cloud in sight. The bright blue of the sky abruptly sprung forth over the insurmountable violet violence of Virat Mountains in the west. The jagged edges of which, diving upwards were, as if, fighting for space. They bore the crimson evidence of their ego.
The emerald sparkle of the dense foliage at the foot of Virat, were defiantly beaming, because the sun had long risen over the Virat, and they had plenty of time before they would close down, with the dawn of starry night. These plants had large saucery aperture. Their leaves coalesced in divine surrender to their one god – the sun. The saucers would collect the ‘sundrops’, their staple food, which the sun incessantly spewed out. A white blazing mist stayed afloat over the greenery for most of the day.
Between this pool of sundrops, and the thick layer of mist, prickly bolts would spring up. This kept most other insects and animals away from the pool, and the plants, happy.
___________

All of a sudden, borok’s ears tweaked, and eyes narrowed. A few of them ran out of their caves, and stood with excruciating patience.
A hurricane had squished through the palette of violet, greens and blue, and turned the whole landscape into an abnormally serene, juxtaposition of colours. But their alertness owed allegiance to arrival of something else. They didn’t have ‘reason’ on their side. They lived in a state of complete surrender. Surrender to the one objective of life: That of assistance to the new-borns.
Through the eye of the hurricane, sunny and sanica made their maiden voyage into this world. From the eye of the hurricane, straight in between the abreacting thunderbolts and into the pool of sundrops. The hurricane had ripped the plants, and had thrown them every which way. The one in which sunny and sanica found themselves, sat delicately perched over one of the jagged edges. Their gaunt figures, frail but not trembling, stood in the pool of sundrops. Boroks were on their way.

____________