Monday, April 8, 2013


From the Promontory of Indian Ocean  I could see the rock monument of Swamy Vivekananda

All on a sudden It rained  clearing all colours from the evening sky..

Centuries spoke to me in soft voices and a diamond sparkled my poetic dreams . I thought for a while about the Greek Traveller Pausanias who identified the deity of Oceanid, daughter of Ocean, of Greek Poetry.

I opened my poetry book and wrote..

Sea of life whispers 
in my ears
and in horizon
who writes a poem
an eastern star of autumn?..
Listen,  seasons
i am here with rains 
of monsoon and flowers
from my central garden
listen, in libraries i sit
to erase all my deepest
which fall against
my eastern shore...            
let me fill fascinating facts
of this world  
in my souvenir...
Listen, i am going to write

I watched in amusement.  How can I describe our cosmic universe..  From one parallel world why i wonder disgusting memories walk towards me.   I wanted to walk back to my ocean shore but couldn't as the sketches of tides against me was so provocative.

There again a storm…

He my eternal enemy by choice of time has created a comic sketch again to show case  his present mind stream.  I wondered why on earth we should sing our National Anthem in a different style and why I should see the comic sketches of ignorance again and again..

Yes, he is a changed man and his new face depicts not his original soul. He changed on the surface to create a great feeling of goodness and struggles to wrap up his uncovered original self. It is difficult but he has to do that. He needs to create comic sketches as and when necessary to prove that he is indeed happy and he never was happy like this in his life- a lie he wants to tell again and again to spread across a message to the people who watch him in close quarters.  In truth he is disturbed and to cover his disturbance he talks and acts in a new style that he wants people to believe him. He acts indifferently but in heart expects a storm less  ocean  for his paper boats to sail trouble free and a few beautiful seashells as gifts (for him to refuse if sent) to soften his ruptured ego. That is not happening because the ocean is roaring in front with real anger on his unpardonable actions.  He knows exactly what he did in rage and he knows that how to drape the wrapper of escapism. In a way the comic sketches he creates speak that he is insecure and does not want  to lose the reward points of ink drop support . He secretly wishes that how good if he does not walk on the escapist theories but cannot step down from his ‘impressing the world art formulas.’

Off late I had to encounter with him again which I thought would not happen. If he would not have sent that do evil frames from the do no evil banner holders i would not have bothered about even his presence or absence that i have made my mind in such a way that to tune numb to the ignorance of the great wisdom preachers.  I understood that he wanted to create situations that the ocean in me should encounter with him and he at that time should act as if he got only National welfare in his head streams.

Good Ideas expect  or plead not  for a  platform. A Good Idea can stand by its own as it is original and creative but he wants to create an impression to the outer world that my earthen elements struggle to impress him with my ideas. My ideas I know are earthen and they emerge from my earthen origin as  simple forms  to the ignorant sketches of his hypocritical  mind set up. I don’t think I need to ruin the fragrance of my earthen ideas as a show piece game gadget to impress a pretender..
Indian Ocean,
Let my heartbeat speak
 a soft sweet language
better than the sketches
of ignorance
in fragrance of earth

Olive Leaves are stolen  from my collections and the tree was set on fire and a drop of nectar was there on its earthen eastern branch, enough for me to read about Acropolis and Parthenon. 

From the promontory, I walked back and bought a sea shell, I thought for a while what should write on its beautiful sea carved shape..
Write my name.. No.. I got a few with my name..
Tagore.. I said.. he looked at me..
Noble  for my soul..
I am not here to change the origin of my National Anthem and invade  boundaries and peep through the   windows of another human being.
I am here to write..
Write poetry like Tagore..
I need to be alone in my garden otherwise I lose my origin in ruthless invasions…
My dreams i break not...
Ahead of summer
i learned to walk,
In raindrops I fill my soul
I speak in earthen fragrance,
fill my heartbeats in East ocean
Beyond that I worry not…….

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