Friday, May 07, 2010
Dynamo
…the dynamo
Its moves the definition of
Lustful electric innocence
That core – an alloy
Of the machinery of weakening
Beaten, forced, burnt
Moldable turned durable
Wired around a perennial turnover
Turn – on, off, on again
Many a switch handed over
Burning the probing culprits
For it was never your remote
Neither is it the one-channel tv
Observing its working needs patience, paranoia, distress –
The experiences of maneuvering Kathmandu traffic
Its love of the power show
Will raise your spirit into upper abodes
But the fire within stellarly lit
Falls a hapless victim to the radical self-instability
Explode, destruct, deflate…
Embezzling you deep into underground
What would you know?
The evil black hole swallowed your dynamo again
Courage diffused, its magnet defeated
Those rotations that lit your life
Couldn’t long handle their own
Caught within the viscosity of repetition
Darkness will never be its end
Your dear dynamo simply awaits a spark of an alighted start…
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Mahadevi Makar
Like fermented Parijat
Her blinking was a red traffic light –
Warning all the way
Too cold for tropics
Those eyes never seemed to have seen at all
The cigarette butt on the guilty ground
Acrid, pungent, acidic fumes
Showers of profanity
Upon the city-girl who had enjoyed its smoke
The moonshine bar stank nearby
Was the werewolf on its trail?
When girls outside box their way into their futures
Rahu casts a sly shadow on ours
Hot, humid flatlands busy burning witches
While tin-roofs blind the pain of brothel girls
Once bitten, twice shy; fangs refuse to hide
Let fate sleep uneasy on swallowed destinies
Awake enough to know now, Parijat "weaves" despite vengeance
As she ran before me, I silently worshipped a Mahadevi.
Poet’s Note:
My personal theory is that poetry should never be prone to explanations, rather be allowed to be interpreted. But in the past I have realized many times that sometimes an explanation actually helps create a better understanding of an abstract piece, especially if the writer had personal references in mind during writing that the rest of the readers may not be aware of. Mahadevi Makar is one such allegorical piece. Having said that, I would still welcome any interpretations that you all can give. I believe that the more varied perspective a poem can have, the more its appeal. Every sentence in this poem has a meaning deeper than what may appear at the surface. Here is my attempt at explaining its intricacies:
Overall, the poem is about women empowerment. Broad as this may sound, I try to approach it through the eyes of a symbolic Nepali lady who I refer to as Mahadevi at the end of the poem. The Parijat could either be the flower that many of us know but Parijat was a prolific female writer who can be called the pioneer for introducing feminine issues in Nepali literature. Parijat was always ailed by diseases and had a life of suffering which explains the term "fermented".
The term "bhatti" translates to moonshine bar. The stinking is in turn symbolic of the putrid hearts who are all too willing to sell women across the border. The werewolf is the agent who sometimes even goes to the extent of marrying a woman in order to convince her of his innocence. But this werewolf changes faces when he sells the woman. The boxing reference comes from my having watched two movies on the subject of women boxers, namely "Girlfight" and "Million Dollar Baby". "Rahu" refers to the astronomy that still plays such a big role in our lives, especially in the latter part where marriages are concerned. Burning of witches is not just about women in Terai region accused of practicing witchcraft but also the incidents we sometimes hear of where a family can go to the extent of "burning" their daughter-in-law due to unsatisfactory dowry. I once read of an article about a village who traded their daughters for tin-roofs. The "fangs" slyly refer to the all so talked about virginity. I call this symbolic woman a Mahadevi in the end because despite years of suffering, she chooses to use her vengeance to "weave" which I look at as a creative way to channel and counter wrath.
I hope the explanations helped a bit in your understanding. Again, I don't mean to take away from you all, the pleasures of interpretations! So please feel welcome to provide new perspectives.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Impasse
Always there and not there
So prominent and noticeable
and yet mingled and mashed with the background
Looking out when there's nothing to look out to
It's all shrouded, engulfed in the misery of the fog
and whatever I have is within feet
The rest is water – inviting –
so ready to drown me.
Guilt and exaggerated emotions
the Karma keeps coming back
in daunting circles.
This may be fickle and trifling
and I don’t know if I can spend days floating
I would start to flail and eventually drown
and not once would you know of my sinking
not once would I call for help…
Don’t bother being the middleman in the see-saw
and keep knocking into her arms then mine
depending which side goes in the air
and which side can weigh your emotions down
I don't want to play that game
I don't want to go back to those murky depths
of blood-filled water, slit veins and upturned eyes
Oh those intrusions – the universe of coaxed
confessions.
Photo copyright: Mark Stacey
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Charade/Halcyon
Neither Floyd, nor Physics
Instead the space stared back
Welcoming in its chastity to concoct
Colors bleeding from recurring fervor
If it were just presumptions to belie
Taking would have been the sole intent
Of any handful that was left…
It’s no mystery now -- ablution be myth
Aroma be only a ceaseless mirage
Endless tales of drifting dots
As glimmers of interest flicker
Prior to ambers losing ignition;
Engulfed in guileful inferno
Transform into a feast of cheaps
King, drama be thy name…
मेरी अध्यारोकी अनामिका
अहिले पनि त्यही छे
त्यही झ्यालमा
मलाई पर्खीरहेकी
मानौ मैले सुम्सुम्याएको कुकुर
ऊ नै हो
अनी शायद ऊ पनि
मेरो फुस्रो स्नेहमा
मेरा आँखा अगाडि
र म गए पछि पनि
पुच्छर हल्लाउदी हो!
उस्ले चियो गर्न चाहेकी होइन
मलाई थाहा छ
ऊ त केवल
एक साधारण मान्छे हेर्न चाहन्छे।
दुनियाँ नबुझेको अबुझ
आफ्नो कुवालाई संसार ठान्छ
आफ्नो भाषालाई सभ्यता मान्छ
गल्ती गर्नु सम्म गरे पछि
त्यही गल्तीलाई
कहिले आविष्कार (?)
त कहिले संस्क्रिती (!) -
उस्को परिचय भनी मख्ख पर्छ।
ऊ अबुझ होइन
त्यसैले त ऊ मलाई हेर्दी हो
कसरी मा दिन भरी जीवन वरपर घुम्छु
केवल रातमा मात्र आफ्नो जीवन भित्र घुस्छु।
मेरो मौनताले मलाई भगवान बनायो
मेरो हिडाइले मानव मोडेल
ऊ आफ्नै ढुक्ढुकी सुन्न सक्तिन
त्यसैले म उस्लाई कतै परबाट
आफ्नो ढुक्ढुकी सुनाइ दिन्छु
यध्यपी यो मेरो अपराध हो
म उस्लाई मुटुको नशा सस्तोमा बेच्दैछु।
दुनियाँका लागि ऊ शान्त भए
मेरा लागी चुल्बुल, चन्चल
जकडिएका बन्धन तोडेर
ऊ आफु बन्छे सीमित उज्यालोमा।
राती झ्यालमा भुतहरु तर्साउन आउँदा
उस्लाई मेरो कोठाको बत्तीले तानी रहन्छ
म सुते कि सुतिन (?)
फ्याट्ट एक झलक दिन्छु कि (?)
उस्कै लागि जागेको त होइन (?)
उस्लाई लुकेर हेरेको त छुइन (?)
प्रश्नले मागेका उत्तर शब्दै बिना
दिन नसक्ने भएर त म साधारण भए!
म घर एक्लै रुङेर बस्न पर्दा
मैले उस्को गहिराही
धैर्यमा देखेछु
ऊ मेरी अध्यारोकी अनामिका।
मेरो नाममा रचिएका कविताले डायरी भरिएका छन
राती म झुल्कनासाथ उस्को
लेखाइ शुरु हुन्छ
हृदयलाई काखमा राख्छे
दिमागमा जोडै नदिइ
कहाँबाट ती पन्क्ती बाध्छे
त्यो डायरी चोरी म हेर्न चाहन्छु
के मेरा धुन उस्का शब्दले गीत बन्लान?
अरु पनि होलान उस्लाई हेर्ने
उस्ले मलाई हेरेको हेर्ने
मेरा जटा, मेरा खोस्टा, मेरा बोक्रा!
मेरा छायाँ अनी उसको एकोहोरो आलिङ्गन।
Thursday, October 26, 2006
I, Predator; You, Quarry
Do away with your conjectures
Those ephemeral hallucinations where you deify me
I’d rather shun being governed by apotheosis
And stick to an erring autonomous humanness!
You’ve condoned my minor offenses for too long now
Those forgivings must have clogged your morale
Shun me! Go on, shun my intimidating existence
Your unblemished horizon deserves my shadowings no more
Rebel, refute, rebut my replenishing resources
I’m guilty of tiring your dainty girlhood with those
And I regret to tell you for a fact –
“My abstruse anomalies were never analogous!”
This ruthless saboteur rummaging your confidence
Has found felicities to arm itself with
You have unknowingly become music
Played for my dance of delusion.
But may you be saved from vilified slanderings
Now recant thy vows to company
Liberate thyself from the quagmires of chauvinism
Salvage thine sanity from the quicksands of chagrin
Thou shan’t be trampled under my ‘Tandav’!
Liquiefying my love assets
I crave for the credits before “the end”
To put bubbles of dialogue over your picture
To make stills into motion as if you were but a cartoon strip!
Now not mine or yours, dear, ours
a world with exaggerated motions…
frames ringing of over-blown clichés…
emotions—running amok, animated to fit.
I hinge your imaginings on chaste words
as you break the door to my bookish figments
and seep through my non-porous air of calm.
Inside that door you find my feelings on a platter -
looking exposed, weighing naïve, running risks of infection
all for the convenience of your scrutiny.
And now I crave for the waters before “the end”…
to thwart your ill-fated voyage
I check your buoyancy for flaws—holes made because of standards
Meandering is futile just as is my ignorance
of the wake left by your prodding
We’ll drown despite ourselves—unleashing the wills of destiny,
unburdened by glaciers of the past…
Looted by vulture eyes…
He suffers many a tailspin
Lying in the grayness
Between dense black misgivings
and stark white conviction
There’s no suppressing
the power he feels
with that amulet of authority
tied to his being
It fills the holes
left by his bullets
Hears his subconscious –
how it crawls…in silence
into his drunken stupor
becoming what defines his stasis…
the charades of suffering!
She walked with poise
brimming full of innocence
until his vulture eyes
became ravenous
to imprison her gait
to detain both ‘She’ and ‘her spotlessness’
from aimlessly strolling
the alleyways of youth.
His hypocrisy –
oppressive and two sided –
perhaps never applies the brakes
to confine his wanderings
For every innocent
passing his vehicle of age
is cursed into decries of fakes
This is the exhilaration
that he so enjoys
in rides of self-indulgence,
away from the boulders of guilt!
Nicotine
If you’re feeling guilty
just don’t, please don’t
because I’m guilty too
for exaggerating any expressions
over why you are so full of smoke.
I am in need of cleansing
a stagnant dust inside the powering walls
of hurt and betrayal
A world away from these throbbing conditions
or the trails of many ashes concealed within them.
It’s a mindless submission
into scars of rationale and feelings
fighting to pile up their selfish empires.
It’s in your eyes
in all that doesn’t escape your lips
it’s in the oxygen that is forever lost
for a killing you so badly want
A future contract unfurling
in every puff you take
eating the present in installments …
“Inshallah”: If God Wishes!
You may see and not see
how I’m looking in your direction
out of your sight but focused on you –
how you turn, the way you speak
what catches your eyes
something that turns you on or off.
You may tug at my seat
or not look at me at all.
Bathed in worldly illusions
I may be just be one of the many
or among many ‘the one’
To talk would be to connect…
Do you despise being tangled
in my meticulously woven webs?
In your Koran, my Gita
who refuses to let us talk? No one.
It isn’t religion that forbids
It is the walls within us…
The cowardly fright of growing closer
makes the walls harder to break.
“Why am I clumsy?”
My rags of misdemeanor
so contrast your mannerly opulence!
I drop things; I drop low
to come up in your eyes
The eyes that you cover
with goggles of “Inshallah” –
if God wishes we will talk,
we’ll walk the alley from acquaintance to friendship
we’ll be bound by cords of knowledge and feelings.
It isn’t love for I don’t know you enough
It isn’t an infatuation because that’s a small word
incapable of containing, tending to overflow
when filled with the feelings I have for you
For the way you look
sometimes in my direction
Just a glance that I could have misdirected
but not misjudged.
For there is something which makes me suspect
that you want to know me
or someone else!
He didn’t tell me to write about him
This world is too much to take
The other one’s a blur
He hangs on dearly to our lives
One side then the other
Dwelling among the barely clad
His ego sweats to keep up
Elusive, phantom, much hyped…
His studio alone constitutes the world
Absurdity at its best – theories conspire
Do we even pause to hear him laugh?
After all; it’s his strings, his mud!
Effortlessly, he finds his way to us
Beauty enslaved, perfection redefined
Crying…he warns in light and sound
Too many pictures…all mute to our queries
Is our eternity only a train-ride away?
Is inflicting death a pain to his faith?
Lust, greed, riots…so much of smoke
Must sting his eyes
But he looks on – upon his own
Through and thorough
Slaughter, slaughter…all that blood
Spills in his territory
In our perishing, what gets he?
Bored and lonely, he cooks emotions
Shhh…secret recipes
A human heart and a thousand guinea pigs
A blue-black canvas spreads where crystals float
He sells it to lovers as a starry sky
I call him my friend
He slashes my heart
Elaborates my emptiness
Moves his strings and makes me cry
Then he gifts his words
Inside the ruins of broken dreams
And hides behind his own shadows
Last night, his sparks ignited my dreams
He was too modest to tell me
But I somehow I knew – God deserved a description!
Vacant or the absence of being?
I am that chasm
where light becomes darkness
creating illusions of the space I am not
I trap hopes
bury them and create death
I’m the decay – spoilt, rotten
brooding, waiting, sly, deceiving, punishing
Undeserving of the bridge that would define me
Would wake me from my delirium
I slither into depths unknown
as far as I can from the heights
which measure me.
I’m only the absence of structure and symmetry
Devoid of substance – I’m opaque
A reflection to the endless shadows of myself
Don’t slash me, please
with the over-expectations of geography
or categorize me into columns of acceptance
Unmatchable – I am that extra without a pair
Your try at complementing or supplementing
would never fill me
That would just empty you
Don’t color me and call me sky
I defy those shades that make life a worthy portrait
The lesser you give me, the more you’re left without
Don’t give me voices in an effort to coax my own
You’d only tire of hearing your own echoes
Take away from yourself the feelings
you evoke on my behalf
It is just pretense – your invented cover-up
for my inability to reciprocate
Your bickering over me is your own battle
with the multitudes of the person you are
I could never hope to be
even a fraction of those luscious folds
Leave me hidden until I learn to bury myself
in a hapless tide of calamity;
something, anything
that would bereave me of my selfish tales
Leave me to be a presence that never was!
Lamentation: Lacerations
There were wounds.
Big wounds. Bad wounds.
I was slashed day after day
with a heartless dagger
carried and maneuvered carelessly
by two of my creators.
They first put me together
and with a right attached to that
they cut me into pieces.
Parents, anyways?
The wounds turned into scars
painless in blissful ignorance;
attention and care would only hurt more.
I learnt early on that it’s best not to care
and fuss over little things like your emotions!
So my heart was buried.
It died a slow death
that was eventual and obvious to them –
those who had first longed to hear it
now waited for it to stop
and as they thought it did
they carelessly (again) snatched it from me
and made it one of their own.
All our three hearts buried side by side
when it could have been a different story altogether.
Hearing fights I thought was every child’s pastime
for I heard them all the time.
in the presence as well as in the absence
of a proper excuse.
I heard them – their voices escaping the ears
of the plaster, mortar and paint
heard, because seeing even through a peephole
something would inadvertently poke at my eyes
warning me to never disclose the secrets I saw
for word was to be kept
that ours was a happy home!
Champion! Me? I was heroic at school.
There never was a question of underperformance
what with a shadow I now call pressure
permanently attached to my identity.
Excellent! Me?
Performing for two, my heart throbbed
every time the results came
maybe due to the thrill of seeing happy faces
emerge from the scowls, at least for a day.
Or maybe because I would exist, I would be noticed –
applauded…unlikely
criticized…surely
made an object of discussion
my efforts under scrutiny, my performance being cross-examined
They told me I was always ‘okay’ but never ‘good enough’
never appreciated…why?
My pride would grow?!
My childish ego would swell?!
Encouragement, fatherly pats, motherly hugs…
these were others’ candies.
For me there wasn’t even the forbidden sweetness
of mild acknowledgement
but I labored on without these
for there never was an option, anyways.
Another examination, another result day was inching closer.
The astrologer, the miracle man, made predictions
about a girl he had never seen and would never see:
‘She’ll grow worse every year’
Worse?! Define, please.
They chose to believe in the stars above
but not in the person before their eyes.
Any which way I grew, branched out, bloomed, bore fruit
was evil…so not right.
‘Our child has been brainwashed.
Let those who did it be cursed.’
“Let me be cursed.”
It was my own mind that got courage enough
to break the mould and spill out.
There isn’t a third party involved here.
What’s wrong anyways?
Your speculations are coming true –
something you always believed would happen
is happening. Finally.
Isn’t that nice, mother?
Your child isn’t your robot anymore.
The circuits have long burnt
and the pain is coming back.
The numbness, just an imposed delirium of long ago,
has been replaced by a tingling soreness
the stinging clarity of hurt.
This thawing of a frozen life
this emergence of a living portrait
this diminution of an enforced dementia
assures me of my humanness.
I was walking one day
waking with gazes, that threatened,
all around me.
So afraid they would spot little fragments of pain
embedded on my skin or hidden behind my eyes
that I lost direction,
found myself trapped in an impasse
Dark, wet, murky corners before me
and my past behind creeping upon me
too bloody for me to crawl back into…
And then, there, right there,
waiting for an escape that wasn’t to be found
my heart skipped a beat.
Heart? Heart! Heart?
Muffled beats unheard before became throbs –
threatening, reeking of revolution, shy of a façade.
What had been taken away then?
Something snatched in haste
they must have snatched the lungs or the liver away from me
Some bloody anatomical tomb
that never had a life
that never pumped life into me.
That Doctor Just a House Away
The tears that glisten
as they stream down my cheeks
won’t satisfy your qualms
about a pair of eyes watching you
everyday just seeing you move
in and about the perfect life.
I seek solace in things
that’ll never happen between us
because in imagination I’ll not be angry
and you can’t shout
just because I made your house the wrong way
gave birth to retarded children
hold a job that I bring home everyday
All you can do in imagination
is to be you.
I can’t hear you because you’re too far away
but near enough to seek solace.
When you just show up from nowhere at all,
I tell myself it is for me.
After a while pretense hurts
and I realize that I don’t exist for you (!)
because all I’m doing here
is watching a normal person
Something which I can never be
Someone whom I’ll always love
but who will (quickly) detect I’m abnormal
more or less than normal
and throw me out of his life.
Your ignorance—I don’t blame you for that.
You’re smart.
No really, I want you
to hear this.
You’re smart and funny and happy and successful
In short, you’re everything that I’m not
and can never be.
That’s why I watch you
Just to feel with you
what your life, it feels like!
I don’t spend all my time here
I come precisely when you come out.
Believe me, it’s not planned.
It just happens.
Don’t blame innocent fate or blind coincidence
for making me come to see you
and letting me invade your privacy.
A horn takes me to the window.
You coming by? Notify me beforehand, will you?
So that I don’t come running to the window
Shift the curtains—enough to hide me, enough to reveal you.
Except, it’s never you.
It’s always someone else.
With time I made this cover
It’s what you see of me
What lies underneath is not your concern.
Neither is it going to be anyone else’s.
The cover-up needed expertise
When you’re hurt everyday, you learn to shield yourself.
Meanwhile, you forget your sadness;
forget sadness…hmmm
wake up to tragedies…hmmm
never sleep…hmmm
You lose all hurt and you lose all life too.
Your mama and papa away, Big Boy?
I can see you’ve got nothing to do.
I fidget when the to-do list runs out.
So I stock myself for years to last
lest I remember what I was born for.
That’ll hurt me all over again.
Don’t remind me!
I can’t build cover-ups day to day
With ashes of my life.
So I pretend I’ve got many things to do
except for what I was born to do.
Make me not think.
Big Boys don’t make anonymous cry!
If tears, my tears, didn’t spill
You wouldn’t know that you can play this game too.
Just pretend and model and show off
Every bit of human in you.
Now, that’s enough. I don’t want you to model.
It’s not about your clothes or shoes.
It’s about your heart.
I can’t hear it beat. Show me how it beats.
I should understand why it beats
without having to hear my own.
Doctor, are you?
May be I can be your patient
and license you to play God.
I should talk to you
Humor you into believing I’m the best thing (?)
that could have happened to you.
Of course, that doesn’t include your hard-earned degree
that lets you make or break.
Play on…God!
Then you come closer
So close I nearly glance at your soul.
And you smile because it’s your turn now
to watch
how breathless I can be
how mystified from closer
so different than the shadows you saw on my window.
I’m not a shadow but my shadow hates to be me too.
My breath quickens, it may stop
by the knowledge of being watched.
Loving is not about money.
It’s about standing by to see her dreams fulfilled.
Not only yours.
Having enough belief in her.
Letting go of her.
It isn’t about hurting her
and healing it with ice-cream.
One moment you love her because she’s a success
and the next she gets beaten because she failed.
Where’s love then?
Inside that ice-cream?
Hiding and cowering
so that it doesn’t get beaten too.
Love her as a part of you
Not like someone who’s going away without your permission.
The city lights make me feel (I’m) naïve
because I can’t carry all that light in me.
The lights in your house give me life.
Inspire to prove to you
I’m not awake for nothing
I could have been lost in dreams by now
But I’m awake. Rooted in being awake.
Looted of beautiful dreams by the minute.
I am like the dog that you cuddle -
wagging my tail
at your face and behind you.
I cling on to you…
Impressions, glimpses, retakes
whatever you give, I take.
If it’s anyone, it’s you doctor
who can cure me of this obsession for you.