On Eating Alone

Eating Alone [Explored]
Eating Alone [Explored] (Photo credit: pennuja)
I sit at this long , lonely dining table,
Spread of feast  of dishes deceivable,

Green, wet, banana leaf in colors, splashes,
Your favorite pickle, spicy flashes,

I turn away to  stare at the ashen  floor-
its ginger and – lime red in oil and more,

Think of you;  cannot eat.

Recall  that  you abetted,   as we bunked,
Bicycled , hid, roamed, ‘berserked’, flunked,

We strayed, tired, dreamt, hungered together,
Told mom sympathy tales; sought food and cover,

Ate in ‘schemed’, swallowed, quietude,
Bonded  as we pretended, hurried.

Tonight, as I sit alone,
Its all memories in stone,

Rice, curry, fish and lime.
My thoughts wish sublime.

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The Dancing Lord

Shiva (Photo credit: GraceOda)

Scale of life, of death , of time,

Thunder drum – sounds of creation,

Sun  fiery,  entangled in your locks,

Arch a  halo – gyrated,  burnt!

Destruction! Undone, balanced.

Trampling elephantine ignorance,

Serpentine  fall of unlocked  tresses,

Liberating the cosmos in hurtling bliss,

Universe rocked by your steps,

Trembling in awe at your prowess,

You rush through the space of nothingness

Dance! through this timelessness

Dispel the unseen, unheard, unfelt,

Teach me to sing, to dance, to drum

To create, to protect, to renew,

To reconstruct  from the embers.

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The Colonial Contest: Schadenfreude 2

darkness-black-train-imageYour knowledge, erudition

The devaluation  of tradition,

The crafting of innovation,

The advantage of education,

The roll call of the printer,

The rifle and the powder,

Your indomitable  will to conquer,

Skill to  Incite among my ranks deceit .

All I had was some self respect,

Which your taunt grated, it  hurt

Deep into self,  it pierced ,

Empty my fury, yet livid, irate,

I knew I had lost,

To your mind brilliant.

I disengaged.

This post is part of Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 3 – Schadenfreude over at Rarasaur’s blog

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Schadenfreude- a pleasure derived from the misfortune of others …

Dance of the Blessed Spirits
Dance of the Blessed Spirits (Photo credit: code poet)

We wait with glee in expectation of the other person to trip.

We know he is going all wrong. We could correct him.We could  point out to him his mistake.

We may have the ability to influence him ; to hold him back from the path downhill.

We could perhaps even issue a ‘cease and desist’

Yet we choose not to so do.

It is a ‘ set up to fail’ syndrome.

We realize that he is about to make a fool of himself.

Internally, we are proud of ourselves, of our superior intellect. We know.

We sit back and relax as he presents himself before an audience.

We desire eagerly that others come to know that he does not know.

Then we see him stumble, then tumble. That is a delectable spectacle.

Quietly, to oneself, it is victory time for  us.

Celebrations of the avertable adversity befalling an adversary.

The demonstration of demonic prowess within us.

This is but a pyrrhic win. For we have lost the moral right.

All that we gained we lost to ourselves even as we won.

That is an irrational, inhumane  triumph of deceit.

This post is part of Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 3 – Schadenfreude over at Rarasaur’s blog

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Flight to Quality?

Picture Courtesy: 123RF Photos
Picture Courtesy: 123RF Photos

Am standing at the doorstep.

Preparing for the great escape.

A break out strategy, a net-escape.

From the manacles of this boredom.

From the tyranny of this dreary norm.

No more  a dilapidated relic.

Away from pretensions chic.

Fleeing from shallowness- hypocrisy.

To a world of letters-  meritocracy.

To the musty smell of books in tatters.

Away to transient thoughts among  chatters.

Retreat in to my towers of silence.

Protected by the vultures of loneliness.

Am caught between cowardice and creativity.

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Why do we blog?

Is it
to fill the emptiness in our lives with granules of thoughts?
we believe we have something to say?
we cannot speak and so we write?
we are filled with bitterness at what we see?
Run away from all of them and all of these?
we love and dare not say it?
of the strange urge of self- expressionism?
we wanna document our experiences for posterity?
believe that the message is in the medium?
no one notices me otherwise?
of my urge to escape reality?
I really need a group to belong?
I have nowhere else to turn?
I am intensely lonely?
It is just vanity publishing?
Could you tell me why you blog?

River Ganges

As you unlock yourself from the Himalayas,

Hurling boulders as they gurgle along side you,

Reformat  this ancient, harrowed , civil terrain,

I stand by your  decrepit  bank in fear and awe,

Touch your cold water to soothe my torments

Wash my sins, drench my dilapidated emotions,

Watch the decrepit dirt  slip away in the splash of your colours

I think of my ramshackle  past, then,  snap the tenuous thread

Death of thought, of reflect, of felt, of sensate, of disgust,

Birth of light, of detach, of spirit, so indifferent, of calm,

A thousand lamps lit along you in hurried,  hazy  hues

Each one a tear drop of time,  your biographer,

Me lost save in your arms , so welcome  icy cold,

You drench with your countless drops, chill my fire within.