Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
अ मोमेंट तो remember
A moment to Remember
This night is too beautiful to behold, moon and silence. My heart aches.
Know I will wake up at dawn and regret that I can’t take it with me.
It will all be erased one day and I shall not know that I ever lived. I have
nothing, cannot own anything but my own ageing body, all I can do is to
enjoy the rare moments of fulfillments. I hear a plane high up see its light,
full of passengers going home and back to work. Why would anyone want
to leave this place? Across the road, in a darkened house, a man lies dying
racked by pain he can’t even shave himself. He sees not the full moon.
My life consists of moments, not like takes at a film studio that can be done
over and over again till it’s right. Some moments are too sad to behold.
Do not think of this now, I will drink another cold beer, smoke a cigarette,
look at the stars and dream.
This night is too beautiful to behold, moon and silence. My heart aches.
Know I will wake up at dawn and regret that I can’t take it with me.
It will all be erased one day and I shall not know that I ever lived. I have
nothing, cannot own anything but my own ageing body, all I can do is to
enjoy the rare moments of fulfillments. I hear a plane high up see its light,
full of passengers going home and back to work. Why would anyone want
to leave this place? Across the road, in a darkened house, a man lies dying
racked by pain he can’t even shave himself. He sees not the full moon.
My life consists of moments, not like takes at a film studio that can be done
over and over again till it’s right. Some moments are too sad to behold.
Do not think of this now, I will drink another cold beer, smoke a cigarette,
look at the stars and dream.
Friday, June 25, 2010
कास्कैस Portugal
Cascais, Portugal.
First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust
While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.
I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”
First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust
While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.
I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
थे seas
A Poem from the Seas
I once saw, where the horizon ends, a ship plough the sky.
White tears on pale blue, and I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others, it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late, the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist for Dogger Banks, and take
onboard discarded dreams to plug the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea and red flying fish, my ship is
bound for the Saragossa Sea with a hold full of old sailors,
it’s here they come to stalk in the fog of the forgotten.
I once saw, where the horizon ends, a ship plough the sky.
White tears on pale blue, and I saw the waiting darkness;
I knew, before any others, it would be a starlit night.
Look, I said, but it was too late, the ship had cast anchor
behind a cloud loading mist for Dogger Banks, and take
onboard discarded dreams to plug the dikes of Amsterdam.
Sunflowers on mythical sea and red flying fish, my ship is
bound for the Saragossa Sea with a hold full of old sailors,
it’s here they come to stalk in the fog of the forgotten.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
थे देअथ ऑफ़ जोसे saramago
The Death of an Author. (Jose Saramago)
Jose Saramago has gone. Communist, truth seeker
and atheist, never liked by church and state.
When he won the Nobel peace prize of literature,
he was embraced by the Portuguese people, even
by those who had never read his work.
For a fleeting moment the light of fame, shone on
the nation. Alas, he died when football fever was
on its highest, his demise was hardly noticed. But
future TV programs will, no doubt, exalt his virtue.
In time there will be a statue of him in the corner
of a dusty square.
Jose Saramago has gone. Communist, truth seeker
and atheist, never liked by church and state.
When he won the Nobel peace prize of literature,
he was embraced by the Portuguese people, even
by those who had never read his work.
For a fleeting moment the light of fame, shone on
the nation. Alas, he died when football fever was
on its highest, his demise was hardly noticed. But
future TV programs will, no doubt, exalt his virtue.
In time there will be a statue of him in the corner
of a dusty square.
Monday, June 21, 2010
बिरद migration
Bird Migration
I see no birds today
Need them for my loneliness
Wonder why they flew?
The birds which left
Built me a nest of feathers
A bed of eiderdown.
Birds are transient
Open the door of any cage
See them fly as dreams.
I see no birds today
Need them for my loneliness
Wonder why they flew?
The birds which left
Built me a nest of feathers
A bed of eiderdown.
Birds are transient
Open the door of any cage
See them fly as dreams.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
आईटी इस ओनली cultural
It is Only Cultural (Afghanistan)
Afghans hate America, it’s a cultural thing mostly.
US, is a democracy, they want to bring peace,
stability and obesity. Wall Street in Kabul,
the rise and fall of shares eyes glued on screens.
Everything is priced and private and Afghanistan
is theme park. Phony Taliban black beards and
fake guns. Folkloric dressed they dance to the tune
of modernity and middle class trivialities.
Afghanistan, reduced to a pretty postcard, maxi
burgers bars and jeans, until self disgust wins and
Afghanistan goes back to its tribal ways.
Afghans hate America, it’s a cultural thing mostly.
US, is a democracy, they want to bring peace,
stability and obesity. Wall Street in Kabul,
the rise and fall of shares eyes glued on screens.
Everything is priced and private and Afghanistan
is theme park. Phony Taliban black beards and
fake guns. Folkloric dressed they dance to the tune
of modernity and middle class trivialities.
Afghanistan, reduced to a pretty postcard, maxi
burgers bars and jeans, until self disgust wins and
Afghanistan goes back to its tribal ways.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
senryu
Senryu
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
senryu
Senryu
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Bowed forest
Bent by the northwesterly
Boars thrive here.
Summer woods
Swimming elks in a tarn
Seem philosophical
The forest’s bear
The honey pot found
The rabbits smiled
Dawn’s forest
Deadly chilled serpent
Dazzled by the sun
The sun amid trees
Tried to set a stage of love
The breeze blew pollen
Monday, June 7, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
atlanter
The Atlantic
Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.
Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
अ डे अत थे beach
A Day at the Beach
Lunch at a restaurant near the sea, sun drenched and blue,
“I couldn’t take my eyes of you,” as the song goes. Twice
before the sea had tried to drag me under, but now it was
friendly and I could not resist its pull.
Friends warned, me do not go into the sea, I disregarded
their plea stripped naked and began my descent. Police
came, they spoke softly, had big towels hiding my nudity.
They dressed me like I was a shop window doll, and since
I was seriously sober gave me the car keys, they had my
name and I was warned not to visit this beach anymore.
It was the 17 of May Norway’s day, but they had all gone
home and I was alone singing the national anthem on
Nirvana’s darkening strand
Lunch at a restaurant near the sea, sun drenched and blue,
“I couldn’t take my eyes of you,” as the song goes. Twice
before the sea had tried to drag me under, but now it was
friendly and I could not resist its pull.
Friends warned, me do not go into the sea, I disregarded
their plea stripped naked and began my descent. Police
came, they spoke softly, had big towels hiding my nudity.
They dressed me like I was a shop window doll, and since
I was seriously sober gave me the car keys, they had my
name and I was warned not to visit this beach anymore.
It was the 17 of May Norway’s day, but they had all gone
home and I was alone singing the national anthem on
Nirvana’s darkening strand
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)