Tree
Category: WordPlay
Tiny Tale: How could he forget me?
This
This tiny tale is a personification! A story of an otherwise inconsequential event in the busyness of day to day life. But when it is looked at from the point of view of an inanimate object, it brings out a certain intensity and meaning. In India, it is not uncommon for people to offer prayers their inanimate possessions like car, bike, house, and land etc. That said, many possessions stay with us for decades and become a part of who we are. The association of objects, first car or first watch etc. with memories is fascinating!
However, I am guilty of subjecting my possessions to apathy and carelessness. Especially the pen, the carrier of ink that help me create many of these tales. As I write this, I become more conscious above the lifeless life this these elements belong to, and hope that this tale inspires me to be more aware of my interactions with the objects around me.
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The Forever Hug
Indulgence
It’s sinful and consuming, it’s Indulgence…
I keep untying the knots of restrain,
It's a sweet symphony of pleasure and pain,
Jostling the edges of a virtuous existence,
It’s sinful and consuming , it's Indulgence,
The moments of exhilaration, so ephemeral,
but the adrenaline rush, it's so damn real,
I mean to pull back, may be rush a little slower,
But it keeps drowning me, deeper and deeper,
It engulfs me to the core, almost takes over,
Makes me do all the things, probably I would never,
How long could it last anyway, it has to end,
I am in control here, I almost pretend,
How do I escape this and alleviate the loss,
Is it even worth all the convoluted chaos,
NO is the answer, don't even take a chance,
I convince myself to take a strong stance,
I shove it away, forever, in an imperfect ending,
Finally, isn't this a better sense prevailing,
but it hits back, again, with a vehement vengeance,
It’s sinful and consuming, it's Indulgence…
Turmoil
My mind’s confusion in the form of a literary expression!
It’s WordPlay, It’s a state of confusion!
As the story of my 'life' unfolds,
I sail through the highs and the lows,
Love and care look like minnows,
Among the giants of pain and throes,
Things which seemed the best so far,
Are losing bitterly in the reality war,
Expectations are taking a merciless beating,
Sorrows welcome me with greetings,
People are changing, may be they ought to,
Reasons and logic are failing too,
Only if my feelings could be like streams,
They could quietly flow on to newer dreams,
High and dry, battered and bruised,
My heart and mind are too confused,
The right and the wrong don't matter,
I've a thousand questions, but no one to answer,
To choose a path takes courage and churning,
Should I lose it all or make a new beginning,
What is it worth, what is the hidden meaning,
I am on the journey of soul searching!
A Soldier
An Independence Day tribute to our soldiers who selflessly protect us! A call out to the bravery of our armed forces and their selfless actions that give a safety net and freedom to all Indians
It’s #Wordplay, It’s #IndependenceDay
‘A Soldier’, I had written this way back in 2015 as a video script for an Independence Day celebration function. This was published on this blog a couple of years later in 2017 but it continues to be current for what it means and conveys. May be even more so, given the developments in the recent years on China border.
This piece is my rant, which comes out of the guilt of indifference I have practiced all these years. As we celebrate our Independence Day in 2023, this guilt surfaces again. Unfortunately, I barely understand and appreciate the sacrifices of my fellow citizens, albeit superhumans, who give up way more for this country than they will ever get back!
My gratitude, ironically coming from the comfort of my couch but yet from the bottom of my heart, to each and every individual who is a part of Indian defense forces. Happy Independence Day, Vande Mataram!
A Soldier
I wake up and witness the early morning haze,
And I feel a cool breeze blowing across the window of my room,
As I wrap myself in the sheet to get comfortable,
I think about a soldier,
A soldier who stays awake all night,
In the coldest of the winds,
Winds that blow incessantly across the snow-capped mountains,
He is fighting the cold, sleep and his feelings,
Feelings that make him want to be closer to his family, his friends,
But he continuously drives them away, because he is serving a cause,
He is there for his nation, for us, for protecting the borders of ‘our’ motherland,
And in the safety net given by him to me and many others alike,
I witness a contrast, a contrast between indulgence and passion,
A passion which makes the soldier’s suffering sacred and worthy,
And a celebrated indulgence from us, in rhetoric and depravity,
As I walk through the silent streets of my city,
On the morning of our independence day,
I see indifference, utter disrespect, just another holiday,
Like the souls inside the sleeping bodies are silently smiling,
Asking me if this day really means something for us?
We belittle the sacrifices made by a soldier on our borders,
While we are all caught up in the web of our own meaningless lives,
A life that we live selfishly, only for ourselves, every day,
Flag hoisting, albeit a token of respect seems like a drag,
like our willingness to be a part of it, even once a year,
A soldier, he doesn’t need the splendor and celebrations,
His lives on the edge, every hour and every moment,
It takes courage to face the bullet for someone unknown,
For any amount of money and splendor, will ‘you’ ever change the role?
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English Poem: Conflict
A state of changing inertia caught up in a free restrain of rhythmic noise!
This English poem ‘Conflict’ is one of the earliest poems that came into existence well over 15 years ago when I wasn’t very disciplined about my writing. I used my writing as a friend whom I could invite over to meet me whenever I wished and then forget it for a long time only to remember it once in a while.
These lines below capture a state of conflict which engulfed me and lent itself to this mumble jumble of couplets. Of course, it was inspired by the feelings of ambivalence which make you want something or someone and at the same time, advice you to pull away!
It’s #WordPlay, It’s a Conflict! Hope you enjoy reading this English poem full of contradictions!
I am tossing and twirling, shouting in protest,
But my body is still, as if amidst a peaceful rest,
I am jostling for space, in a darn open field,
Trying to replace, that doesn’t exist,
I am walking slow, and crawling back,
But reaching ahead, to a place farthest
I mean to say, with nothing said,
To be clear to you, with the haziness
I like to admit, with a denial perfect,
You are still loved, never in fact
I want you back, out of my sight,
You are the darkest, filled with Light!
Interested in reading more hindi poetry and ghazals? Click here to read more poetry
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Book Review: Do You Remember Kunan Poshpora?
This book is about the mass rape of 30 odd women in one night in the two small villages of Kashmir. The young authors detail their story of demand for justice!
Title: Do you remember Kunan Poshpora
Author: Essar, Ifrah, Samreena, Munaza, Natasha
Published: 2013
Publisher: Zubaan
Pages: 222
My Rating & Recommendation: 3/5, I Recommend
Overview
This book, Do you remember Kunan Poshpora is about blatant Human Rights abuse and crimes against women. Specifically, it details the alleged incident of mass rape of Kashmiri women by the personnel of the Indian Armed Forces.
In the year 1991, on a cold February night, more than 30 odd women in the age group of 12 to 70 years, in the two small villages of Kunan and Poshpora in Kashmir (J&K), India were brutally raped by the personnel of the Indian Armed forces during a supposedly routine cordon and search operation.
The cluster of authors (Five young Kashmiri women) present an account of the Kunan Poshpora incident, its shocking impact on the lives of the villagers and the orchestrated delay in delivering justice to the victims of this tragedy. The authors lament the supposed impunity enjoyed by the Armed Forces which has ensured that incident is plagued by botched up preliminary police investigation, biased reports by special committees and judicial indifference. As a result, 26 years later, the case still warrants a thorough investigation.
Backed with thorough research, meetings with the villagers and victims, study of case documents, supporting artefacts and interviews of other people closely associated with the incident, the authors present a strong case against the deliberate cover up by the government and the Army. Additionally, in the seven chapters, a reader also gets a glimpse of life in Kashmir (most militarised zone in the world), and the constant undercurrent of mistrust between Kashmiri people and the authorities. The journey of a courageous group of young women (authors and 45 others) that is creating awareness about this incident and pioneering the demand for justice for the victims of Kunan Poshpora is well articulated. This group filed a Public Interest Litigation (PIL) in 2013, seeking re-investigation of the incident. The case is still sub judice.
Final Word
The writing is a little lengthy and repetitive in portions. The core issue is emphasized very strongly. Overall, this book is a good informative read. Though some details of the incident startled me, largely the content is non disturbing but provoking for sure. The book has helped me to understand the perspective and thought process of my fellow Kashmiri citizens, who, to my utter dismay, unfortunately lack the sense of belonging to our country India. I recommend this book for the awareness it brought along. May Peace prevail. Happy Reading!
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Her
This poem is a dedication to a friend. The emotions of a certain moment in time, captured in words…
It’s #WordPlay, It’s a Dedication!
It’s strange the way this story started,
I saw her first in a mix of crowd,
A glowing face and curious eyes,
Standing out with a gift of poise,
Flowing curls and uncanny laughter,
Spreading smiles and zeal everywhere,
You wish to have her by your side,
She’ll make you feel the moonlight tide,
She feels like a gust of soothing air,
But you got to know what lies within,
Highs and lows, she has had her share,
Broken heart and throes of pain,
A jealous monster on her skin,
She braves him out every day,
Coz it’s hard to keep her in the grey,
Chirping, giggling, she is on her way,
Naughty, crazy, she makes you sway,
I wonder where we are headed,
Typically different as I now get it,
She makes me feel cared, loved and irritated,
Talks, meets and long rides unabated,
We are friends, that’s clearly stated!
I Met A Beautiful Girl Once
A wordplay to celebrate the Joy of Love!
It’s #WordPlay, It’s Love!
I met a beautiful girl once,
She looked like an angel from a distance,
I went closer to her filled with awe,
My heart skipped a beat with what I saw,
There was a girl so divine,
I could give my life to make her mine,
Eyes of a baby and a smile so sweet,
I was struggling to be on my feet,
I went ahead and held her hand,
She looked at me as if she understands,
I thought I would tell her what I feel,
I’ve a lonely heart but please don’t steal,
She smiled at me and pulled me closer,
I let her lead as I looked at her,
Her skin was like a flowing stream,
Like a princess or some queen,
Suddenly a jolt shook me up,
I quickly realized I just woke up,
It was a dream I was going through,
For all I wished it wasn’t true,
I just wonder what could have been,
Was there a meaning to what I had seen,
Years have flown out of sight,
But I still remember that lovely night,
Nothing ever has felt so right,
When I looked at her and held her tight,
You may be far away in some other world,
Or sitting next to me in my abode,
You came to tell me you are there,
Standing by me everywhere,
To pick me up when I fall,
To help me bear it all,
hold my hand and walk with me,
Like the sand moves with the sea,
A lonely heart can see a hope,
Someone’s holding the other end of the rope,
I would never forget your pleasing sight,
I wish I could re-live that lovely night…
Did you like this poetry? For similar posts, check out the wordplay section of The Versatilist.
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