Deep within the woods
Ahead of the canopy
Lay a country quite
And very petite
Nurtured by summer rains
And the winter sun
Bound by mountains
The great ransom
Dale, flourished long
In ignorance of
What lay beyond…
Across the gorge
And in these realms
Where wine and cherries
And farms of mushrooms
Were ever in bloom
Was born Josephine
The daughter of a knight
And as tales recount
The kingdom’s child
With dark locks, black
Of an unveiled night
And eyes that could
Split the trance of skies
Grew she on the moors
And the lush green fields
Where staggered the sun
Did little to reveal
And enigma spared
Rare few
Though most dared not
What she did to
They sung songs
Of great ships that sailed
And woods that lay
A vestige of all tales
And startling voices
She revered of the unknown
Trying to draw closer as
The clocks inched the dawn
For lay this kingdom
Forbidden to venture
Beyond the woods
Of wizards and centaurs
And Josephine waited
In anticipation of
A mystic foray
Someday, to the land across
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
School
A summer, the bells
Rang loud a chime
The familiar old sound
Recounting all good times
Taking me floating
Through the corridors
Of memories, music
Living again the lore
Stuck in this moment
I wish time
Would cease to be
While the sublime
Circles of joy
Elevate again
Losing me in
Those array of lanes
And under this roof
I can live several such lives
Where a symphony nurtures
And the mind wanders alive
Rang loud a chime
The familiar old sound
Recounting all good times
Taking me floating
Through the corridors
Of memories, music
Living again the lore
Stuck in this moment
I wish time
Would cease to be
While the sublime
Circles of joy
Elevate again
Losing me in
Those array of lanes
And under this roof
I can live several such lives
Where a symphony nurtures
And the mind wanders alive
Monday, June 19, 2006
Choked
I came this far
Thinking all is good
In all eventuality, finally
I had gotten over you
I thrived on thee
A wave of myth
A segment of self denial
For you wouldn’t care to be with
But its ironic how trifles
Can still provoke such wrath
When otherwise through enormities
I can numbly steer across
I tried reasoning, I fled
I grieved, even as I said
Tried to surface and delude
Thinking, that might get me through
But now I am tired
And I wish I could stop
Inching away from you
Has contrived me the wrong plot
The walls of which
Gradually close upon me
And left to choke, it dawns
I have been my own adversary
Thinking all is good
In all eventuality, finally
I had gotten over you
I thrived on thee
A wave of myth
A segment of self denial
For you wouldn’t care to be with
But its ironic how trifles
Can still provoke such wrath
When otherwise through enormities
I can numbly steer across
I tried reasoning, I fled
I grieved, even as I said
Tried to surface and delude
Thinking, that might get me through
But now I am tired
And I wish I could stop
Inching away from you
Has contrived me the wrong plot
The walls of which
Gradually close upon me
And left to choke, it dawns
I have been my own adversary
Friday, June 16, 2006
My beginning(inspired from true life :))
I used to be this kid with a bad handwriting, fairly okay grades and a best friend in standard 1. We were in Zakhama, a field station in the east, and dad being a doc in the army, we had an ambulance for a school bus. Abhishek bhayya, my neighbor, was in 10th grade and awfully fond of pulling my leg in the ambulance rides to school and back. He would often call me names like grumpy nut cracker (from a cartoon show about squirrels), jolly molly (jolly is a game and molly was his rabbits name) and baby elephant because the other girl with me, Pawani, my so called best friend, was totally malnourished.
So one day finally, to vent out all my frustration I wrote a poem and handed it to my grade class teacher, who also happened to be his mum. It went as follows…
His name is Abhishek
Stupid names he makes
In 10th class he is
Still eats my Tiffin’s chocolate cakes
He lives in Zakhama
And all the time he does drama
Looks like a joker
In his dinosaur pajamas
After that day, without fail, he would hum this on our way back from school. Far from getting on his nerves, it actually seemed to be tickling him n this would infuriate me no hell. So I came up with better verses subsequently, and got better with time. The rest is history. Now mostly, my hate poems are not inspired, but anyone who has a tendency to pull my leg…beware. I can do negative print publicity as I have done earlier. Grin.
So one day finally, to vent out all my frustration I wrote a poem and handed it to my grade class teacher, who also happened to be his mum. It went as follows…
His name is Abhishek
Stupid names he makes
In 10th class he is
Still eats my Tiffin’s chocolate cakes
He lives in Zakhama
And all the time he does drama
Looks like a joker
In his dinosaur pajamas
After that day, without fail, he would hum this on our way back from school. Far from getting on his nerves, it actually seemed to be tickling him n this would infuriate me no hell. So I came up with better verses subsequently, and got better with time. The rest is history. Now mostly, my hate poems are not inspired, but anyone who has a tendency to pull my leg…beware. I can do negative print publicity as I have done earlier. Grin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)