Unititled

When you opened the box,
O Pandora,
They say you let It go

Check its depths once again
I think they are mistaken

Ignore Donne, Death and Be Proud!

O Death be proud
Thou dost not die
You do live
With those whose kin you spy
Or have already abducted
Or on whom you stalk
Daily it is you
Who, with me, walk
It is you I see all around
In every moan and every sound
The screech is yours is the piercing scream
The burning pyres, still graves, flowing ashes in gushing streams
All things bloom only to wilt
All marry life so Consummatum est! / (it is finished!)

March 3, around 10 pm

They Have Dried Up

It is true,
indeed, she’d never been mine,
yet,
somehow did for me
what Bhagirath,
long back in time.

It had really flowed
each day, each night, each hour
every minute
quenching prosaic fields,
where I reaped rich,
blossoming fragrant flowers by the side,
with me as constant gardener,
sometimes little pansies of a few lines
purple
once a huge chrysanthemum,
a mellow yellow
another time, a lily- white
fragmenting which I’d play
“she loves me, or does not”

I have tried to build dams
to always gain control
to use to my advantage
channelise the flow
but ’twas its own master
rather I the thrall
not it at mine
but I at beck and call

Omnipresent, Omnipotent
it was my new God
this new Brahmaputra, this new Amazon

But then one day
it changed its course
began rubbing its sides
causing breaks in banks

I ran about frantic
to do best as I could,
but it was as if Thetis
I not half The Man.

What could I do as it fled away?
untie-able, nobody’s prey

It has left behind,
in its wake, just one lingering life
very desolate,
all my companions- my breathing words, my flowers
They have dried up!
as I now create
these with paper
origam-ous ones, that do not live
no smells exude.


3rd March 2008
12:10 PM, quite soon after waking up.