Sometimes I see the stars

Sometimes I see the stars.
When the shroud of ignorance tears away
In view comes a shimmery display
’til a grey cloud returns to stay.

Sometimes I feel the sparks,
In the heart of my heart,
Cherish it within mind’s dark
Till practicality steps in,
And sponge of love departs.

Sometimes I smell the roses,
Party to the foreplay of tantalizing scents
’til I hit the snag a cruel roadblock imposes,
Pronouncing ‘Quick, move your tinseltoes’!

Love, oh love;
Sometimes I catch a flicker,
The pounding reaches my ear,
Continues till a fallacy raking mind intervenes,
Takes charge and pulls the veil.

Sometimes I see the future,
Fearing no tear,
An undoubting skull I carry,
Or should I say, a common needs quarry –
Of peace everywhere,
Of smiles and cheer,
No sundry faith,
Or scope for treachery.

Abruptly, I snap out.
Awaking from a tranquil reverie,
An hour of paid harmony achieved.
To my inbox I now revert!

I’ve no intention to delude;
When I say ‘Sometimes I see the stars’,
I do.

(January 29, 2008)
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It started as cynical take on an extremely redundant topic of material life. But somehow, one evening while returning home, the velvety blue night sky seemed very uncharacteristically obliging with a fantastic display of a bunch of bright stars. My cell phone always comes handy when such thoughts emanate, especially at a time when I believe that both my hemispheres are hibernating with no sign of coming out of it!

Ithaca Stolen

This is one of my latest poems. I have been deeply pained by many events that are happening around me... Morning newspapers have news filled with negativity. I usually search hard to find the brighter side, but usually end up feeling frustrated. Television soaps have long episodes filled with grim situations. It's almost like happiness has been stolen from life, sapped out from the system. Here's my take on it.

Ithaca Stolen

An insolent mind finds surprises,
In occasional smiles, pleasant faces.
Pierces the heart, chortles of lads.
Guffaws at wretched tales.

Innocence colored, where ignorance once reigned.
Dimensions blurred injuries inflicted.
Meandering is the dark rebirth inside,
Eyes look away from the sunny side.

In, a dim flame flickers.
Eyebrows crease, pupil narrows
A harrowed life forgets fragments
Of my glorious Ithaca stolen.

An Eden of joy, of a life fruitful
Now an abyss of hazy routine, so futile.
Rising from a crestfallen psyché, eyelids strain
Wonder if the foolish reprisal had any gain?

Disowning present state, haggling with a truant mind,
To victory that never was, Ithaca- will I ever find?

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I truly hope the situation improves for the world over. I hope everybody finds their stolen Ithaca.

My First

Good morning!

Ideas keep striking one's mind and thoughts reappear time and again. But if not documented, they remain just that - thoughts. Not to take away any credit from them, but if not documented/ shared / implemented, they serve as yet another element occupying space in one's memory for no reason!

I have always loved writing. Be it my first poem, when I was a child, or the first story I ever wrote, they have all been extremely important to me, besides having a great impact over my career options, later.

Having loved the writings of many, I always pined for having my thoughts put up on a platform for a wider audience. My first thought was to have my diary of poems published. As I got older, they seemed more and more childish and by then, the interest to go 'public' had diminished considerably.

I don't want time to age my spirit anymore! So, here I go... Hope to keep posting many more fragments of life.

Love,
Di