Giving Chances

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Why do you hide under a veil?

When all you could be doing is soaring on your wings?

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Why do you reach for stars,

When all you could know is you have it in you to shine?

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Why age them in just peering through,

Those eyes, yours, shy like a virgin, which want to learn…

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The veil, that poor see through thing,

Are you letting it, or is it really caging you, against your will?

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Have they tied anklets around your feet,

In gold and silver that gleam but clang like cowbells?

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Tell me of your childhood, your real one.

Did you have a ‘gudda’* then, you loved to fondle around all day?

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You did, didn’t you? You loved him.

Then everything changed, when your childhood was taken from you.

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You were just told, what was right and wrong,

You just winked once and your lovebirds took off into the blue.

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Never you got to see them ever again,

Those mad birds, soaring high, higher than ever you’d flown your kite.

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Those disobedient little creatures,

But why aren’t you happy, that they’ve left you…?

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You must wonder where now they live,

Have they gone away far enough to live in some other world…?

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Those two eyes, two tiny little birds,

Must be wandering among all beautiful things, which you won’t know…

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Those obstinate, selfish birds, that live in dreams,

Ever wondered how they bless humanity every night? They hope for us.

 

 

 

 

 

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Of Addictions and Cravings

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So how does one get out of something like an addiction?

The smoke that fills the room intoxicating time to bend,

Dancing on the floors in little twirls, to seduce will to decay…

The ever growing appetite calling on the blender to hurry.

There’re going to be guests in the house of the old man.

Few words spoken amidst the thousand candleflames chuckling

The noises whispering with the dusty old glassware and cutlery.

The wines will be flowing, the grapes crushed for the bees.

His old beloved’s had plunged down from a lofty cliff.

The smoke’s been burning thus for years and years,

The wines flowing, and all the wax finery will one day melt,

The ground, where everything always find a way to return.

What hope does he have, or what hope befell on these,

Little hearts so torn up to not understand these tragedies.

That chance, mere chance begot them of…?

What of the orchid flowers of temptation,

The sin that offer a heaven of forgetfulness and fantasy?

But in the drizzle of your paradise you’re washed clean,

Of having committed prostitution with death.

Addiction is bad they say, it makes you live a lie!

I say being good, you’re not living the truth either.

Death is inevitable, the day will come we’ll give up anyway.

Being good, you’ll hurt more lives at the end.

Or die scared to death, reality was not real,

Stuck in an asylum you’ll wonder if people weren’t real.

You’re the single human prototype stuck in a virtual illusion.

Some stupid experiment in a stuck up madman’s lab,

Who calls himself God.

Do you want to get out of misery, take the first step soon,

And ask yourself for the truth, and ask a thousand more times.

The scary truth is inevitable, because you’ve known it all along.

Something you can never give up on, cuz’ you’re just hooked on.

Forever and ever. And you don’t care if you don’t win it there.

And still, you just can’t give up. Can you?

Obsession, you call it, I call it love. Just love.

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At last, but what happens to the one who gives up on life,

Fearing that she’ll end up loving living it too much?

First Book Published

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It’s been great, after all these months of painstaking juggling between college life and the hassles of getting published, that finally it’s all over and I’m past the phase I used to be a closet poet and novelist. The journey though has been filled with difficulties, I have no regrets, and it adds a little more credit to my patience that I didn’t give up halfway and back out of the deal I signed when I had dared to dream of reaching out to the masses with my thoughts, ideals, dreams and words in print. It makes me immensely happy that finally I’m almost there where I had envisioned myself to be, and exactly at the right time I had wished it to be.

It had always been a cherished childhood desire to be like my grandfather, Tarini Kanta Bhattacharya, one of the most revered men in my life, a noted figure in the literary scene in Assam, where I come from. In my teenage and late adolescence I took up the pen to experiment with poetry, and failed a lot many times. And this year, 2013 being his 100th birth anniversary, I’m overjoyed to dedicate my book to the beloved legend, who never got to see the garden he had planted so long ago, flourishing so late, as me, a granddaughter he never got to lay eyes on, lives her life on principles he had once taught to his little children, which he himself believed in.

My wish to have a successful career in the world of science was in shatters, when I realized more than anything I’m an artist at heart. I was born to write, and I don’t know from where it just came to me, the desire to write about beauty, and love and anything that draws the soul to question monotony. Dreams, that’s where it all began. And harshness of the world, and still beauty that tore through all that. The complexities of human life, and the organism, that can think and yet with unthinking brutality, like just an animal indulges in savagery in the name of civility and all things holy.

By the time I reached my teenage, I’d seen enough, even at my home, the presence of a different kind of love other than the kind commercial Indian movies portray, but quite understandable by now, and petty squabbles. Even reading different story books and observing fellow friends in my school, made this desire grow, and gave me a silent voice that could be recorded only on paper. I wasn’t very good in my English lessons in school, and used to be despised by my teachers for tormenting them with my dullness and non-responsive behavior, and as you probably guessed, I was never a bright student; always average, at the corner, like a spectator than a participant.

In the romance department, I was worse than the advanced kind of disappointing. My fellow friends would be talking of their boyfriends and I would be pathetically eavesdropping on their chatter, creating in my mind, judging, contrasting, modifying on the basis of the existing kind, a new kind human being, who, as a lover would make up for anything anyone has suffered in their lives, the lack of adventure, the monotony of always doing the same thing, and following the same roads that lead to the grave, having no newness to the institution, and that guy, that kind of guy, I had in my mind, that I wanted for myself, actually never existed.

Then there’s a very famous writer, my idol, Joanne K. Rowling, who spoke through the fictitious Professor Albus Dumbledore, in her book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” and that just changed my life towards the path I finally decided to take. This moment that I took up writing seriously, the year, 2007 also being very significantly important in my life.

Fanciful were those days, and also so memorable!!! Naive as I was, and pure of my unadulterated heart, foolishly I happened to stumble into the student activity room in my new school, my eyes opened to a sight like I’d never seen in my life so far… In the far corner of the room there sat this young boy with funny hair and the most carefree laughter scribbling on a desk with a couple of his friends and that sight, and with a glimpse of his eyes and smile, and my heart hasn’t been whole ever since. He fitted the mental image of my perfect lover, that I’d had so early in my head, with whom I’d begun writing my first story…the image of Dusk, and ever since I’ve never seen any other sight lovelier than that stranger boy sitting there laughing off with his friends, his entire guard down.

I wished to know him better, but then I wan’t very good at making friends, and retaining them. Especially people, I’m drawn to so fatally. IT didn’t last, but over these past six years, I’d had enough, to know he wasn’t at all that much the hero I had in mind, because I wasn’t that image, he had in his. Nevertheless, that love in return blossomed me into a woman, enabling me to write of my passions, and desires, and of love, to the closest degree I can mimic. My book is complete, the first one that I wrote to describe that ideal boy and introduce the chief character of my very first story, that is still under construction.

I wished to do a lot of things, and I’ve tried a little bit of everything. And I have no regrets. I’ve got a life ahead and I will live it as long as my time permits, and will do everything that I’ve ever had a wish in my mind (well, not everything…specially not those which are illegal, haha) to do. Beauty has always been my companion and my strong belief is that it’ll always continue to be for me who is one Libra born, and I believe in myself above all else, that I’ll never change for me, for the world, maybe yes, I might seem, but for me, it’ll be just choices that I made, which in my heart I’ll always remember, what I went through to decide standing on a crossroad.

Moving Nowhere

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Chaos it is when I give it a thought,

As to where we’re headed, that fate has wrought.

Peace that I feel in they words’ embrace,

To think, it grieves me, our love for thee is just thy vehemence!

 

Delirious, moonstruck, blinded by desire,

I feel sacrilegious, accompanying thee,on this godless voyage.

Damned we are, condemned by fate to live in doom forever,

Infernal is the wait, to find that horizon, to bring us back to mortal age.
But the sun is not setting and the endless main of waters, ceaseless ahead–

What scares me is that, I don’t see a wish either, a wish strong enough,

Since the wheel is in thy hands and I’m just a guest on thy anchored barge.

But the sun is not setting and the sea is dead, no winds for the lifeless sails don’t bluff.

 

Moving nowhere, standing still in the ocean of utter desolation, scares me.

We’re trapped in this nightmarish reality, I have no luxury of waking up.

Maybe I don’t want to wake up, I love thee for all I know.

I can’t shatter all those cherished dreams for this one nightmare.

 

Knowing I have nothing to wake up to, except the fact,

To learn which, will shatter me across the ocean.

Knowing our love was just my imagination I indulged in,

Wishing and crying for slumber to murder my obsession.

Seeking thy Breath.

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Another composition. I was trying to write a rhyming lyric, here is the out come. An AB-CD-EF verse.

I will tear down the face of heaven and spread it around thy paradise,

I will steal all the stars to release them to roam in thy wake like a thousand fireflies…

The meandering streams of light will wash through the grassy meadows wavering in the wind.

The flood to the the fire, and all in between will merge and slake, when love overflows its brink.

The torments ending when fighting through the tentacles of time and snares of evil fate,

I will find you, your arms, your warmth and lips. And here, again, I wake.

This isn’t really nice or promising, but I couldn’t think of a better twist to it, than making it all a dream that breaks when the fantasy reaches it’s prime. Hope you all like it.

Have a great day ahead. 🙂

Breaking Free

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Had been locked up inside my own mind, as if,

Tied by rusting chainmail to the icy castle of night.

So, didn’t even have to  really struggle, to get out,

My spirit, unbound, just by mere thought, broke free

Like a canon-ball of shiny metal set to blaze,

Just shot out of sight…

 

Dashing past the clouds of mist and ghosts from the past,

Unholy things, those were, by inches, couldn’t touch my light.

Everything burned along the path I trailed in my way,

The purest form of energy, like fire, now flowing through me.

Firmly ridden on the back of the mad, mad wind,

I reach for the haloed sunbeams pouring in thick abundance,

Through distant holes in the wide blue-white sky.

 

My quest for peace, finally sated for a while,

I wait at the gates of heaven, to open up.

I haven’t seen my God, and it’s been quite some time.

Unbound

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Spirit weakens and spirit strengthens.

Floods that wash away banks and hearths,
Also gives birth to new lands of fertile silt.
Air gives life, and air takes it.
One day the earth’s hunch-backed spine shakes,
For which we cannot protest, since,
It has borne life for millions of yeas with patience,
Offering seeds of fruition and nurture.
Engulfing fire razes down a mansion,
Not considering any plea, nor justice.
And yet, every last hope is placed,
Upon the fire burning in a home…

Thrill of being Free

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Life is morose and life is dead,

Worries screaming in your head.

With lost hopes and all things worse.

 

From dawn to dusk,

Living and eating norms.

One smile, you wait, you die,

For a touch you’d fight and cry.

The sweet company that you crave,

Until freedom flies you to your nest.

 

Awkward first meetings around family and friends,

A stranger sits, trying to peep through your veil.

Cakes and cookies you never knew to make,

You put forward for your clients to take.

Furniture and cars accompany you to the grave,

In the baleful sound of trumpets you slowly break.

 

Thrill, you want when you step in the door,

Taking a hand and flowers on the floor.

Thrill is what you want all that first night,

Your stranger, for you, might not be right.

By the time morning leaves its shadowy cave,

You’re well into the unhappily married club.

 

There you wish that you were free,

Because there are sickles to your feet.

 

Or the thrill is when,

Zooming through posh streets late at night,

In the back seat of a little perky bike…

The air cool from late spring showers,

You throw your hands up in the air,

And leave the past with all its woes,

Behind.

 

I Promise

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The clouds have wafted away,

The moon, clear and high,

Tonight.

After a long, long time,

I have felt you, on my skin.

In my heart.

Got a whiff of your breath,

That I’m so greedy to take.

To kiss those lips, I used to tremble,

Me, today, they’ve touched.

Like starting it all over again.

Don’t know of what the future holds,

But I’m sure of myself, I will not change.

So, under your rusted balcony,

In the rain and the sun,

Holding a bunch of poppies,

For you, my soul, my love,

I’ll be there waiting for forever.

Will you say, yes?

I’ll be Me, and You’ll be You.

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It’s the fact that it’s you out there, is the only thing that keeps me going.

I don’t know how else I could’ve gotten past my laziness and thought of all the good I can do.

All I could do by myself was sit inside my warm room, indulging like Hypnos himself,

Or flutter around settling my scores with all the people who wronged me, like Nemesis.

You took that from me forever, with the gifts of humility, forgiveness and patience.

With your persistent rejections, you filled me with stronger determinations.

I’ll be Artemis – I’ll hunt you forever, and You will be Apollo, in your blazing chariot.

Racing across the skies for all of eternity, and though I know, you’ll never be mine,

I’ll be content to see you for once, every day, at dawn…to start my day with.

High

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O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

You are poor, even though you think you’re rich.

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Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

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Waking up, you will see it one day,

You’re left alone, and the world has moved on…

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All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

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As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

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(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

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Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

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Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

But no one’s home to do the dishes tonight.

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Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

No smile you’ll get, just scowls and butts.

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Lying in your bed you’ll cough and toss,

But no hand will touch your forehead with love.

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Then only two options you have: rub your fat snout,

With a clean white sheet, and come out, right now!

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Or, live in it. And smoke up your life,

Puff by puff, soaring higher and higher,

Like a very angry bird.

By, Cyril Cliffette © 2012