Random verses all written in a day.

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When separate eyes meet in a crowded city square,

Over exploits of their humanity, and time, once and again–

They know they were meant to stay together,

Because they were met by a chance of eternity,

To be lost again, and again.

***

I walk through a dark corridor,

The air hungover with muck and gloom.

The door of the forbidden room stands tall

Like the brooding death of innocence.

I’ve arrived the point where it appears clear,

I’m just trying to kill a love I’ve given up believing.

But the stark darkness stuns the virginity in me,

Which is eager, very eager to take me,

Someplace else…

***

Those roads will be difficult to walk on, now alone.

The sand pebbles and germs, and the whirlpools of air

Which like separate worlds, have flourished to life

From the touch of our feet last trodden.

Preserving our childhoods, and pearls of sweet labor lost-

How dare I violate the sacred order of the worlds,

Which, if, might be conspiring to bring our feet together?

Which, if not, how can I disturb the ghost world,

Where in spirals of dust, our ghost selves would dance?

You will apologize to me, I know, you will. One day.

You know, I deserve one, for what I will have to go through…

The trauma of never being at home, while at home.

 

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Six Months Ago

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Running around,
Screaming around <in my head>
With no questions to ask,
And all pain and guilt.

<Six months ago> You made me wipe away my tears,
<Six months ago> You had me smiling again,
<Six months ago> You had me listening to metal!
<Six months ago> You taught me to love…oo oo ooooo….

Love, love, love, <love, love, love, love, love>
Some mystery it is. <How it happened>
You’d know it all better. <Sure you do>
It’s easy to mistake,
But then it never is.

<Six months ago> It all changed.
<Six months ago> You changed it for me.
<Six months ago> You, you, you happened.
<Six months ago> And your cycle became my eternity.

Words, little words, ran out of mind. <my my, my, my, my>
Some mystery that is. <How it happened>
You’d know it all better. <Sure you do>
It’s easy to mistake.
But then is it?

I plead guilty, <I am I know>
But like all crimes, punish me. <Oh, don’t leave me alone>
You cut me off, like I’m made of paper.
You turned away, like it’ll undo the last six months.

<Six months ago> You spoke a spell, <or something like that>
<Six months ago> If you’d remember, we had something to fight for.
<Six months ago> Six months have passed, and it’s just hurting now.
<Six months ago> You killed us but then there’s the ghost of our laughter…

Taunting through the day and haunting the nights,
You’re out there, soaring up on sunny beaches,
With the tides and the sun, while in silence life leaks outta me,
Caught in the perpetual ice storm, you and life conspired to put me in.

<Six months ago> I wished to die, and fade,
<Six months ago> What I feel now.
<Six months ago> You came in and that changed.
<Six months ago> Now you’re gone and won’t come back again.

All I wanna apologize for is,
I really do miss you.
Baby, you were all the good things,
I believe life ever had to offer me, that I will miss.

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.

It will rain and it will rain ♥

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The air simmers, blisters. Induced hallucinations.

The cracked open mouth of wounded earth,

Seeped with blood red and covered with rust.

Centuries and eons of memories clouded by dust.

 

The fragile lines were breached once long ago,

The tempest had once rushed into my shore.

It’s been long and time has swept away the resort

The floods and waves of tide haunted me to drown.

 

Then the sea is just a embittered memory,

And it was a heap of sand I’d leapt into. Not death.

See, the passion had been sung well to drone.

To arise and laugh back, when mirages mock.

 

It’s been long I’ve lived scared to scraps and bolts.

It, the post traumatic stress disorder in me craving blood.

But I’m ready to go all out again, for surfing in the sea of love.

And she has to come out too, the madwoman locked in my head…

 

The fighter in me. The rebel. The poet. The lover.

The unchained philosopher, her storm unleashed.

Night has finally settled bets with daylight

There right there, fate’s let my midnight sun dawn.

 

Now again the tempest blows ashore, from the east.

The distant roars of the hungry cranky clouds resound

After flashes of desire reflecting his heart and mine.

After a long time I know, it will rain and it will rain.

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Accursed

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Wishes to forget the past wounds wont bear fruit, I know.

Like hopes don’t germinate from wet ashes.

But thinking of you, I really wish, I could forget…

I shiver at certain thoughts, my wishes, some dreams.

Because, again to give it a thought, it’s impossible,

And can’t exist.

Like I’m Calypso reincarnated,

Cursed by the gods for all ages…

To live in an all consuming solitude.

The fates, ever so cruel have left me,

Absolutely no chance at redemption.

Now, as my saviour, they’ve sent me you.

But I know you’ll go away as well.

You have to.

But, I’ll always be here,

Not thinking, not hoping.

Scared to even give it a spare little thought.

Even fleetingly.

Terrified, I’ll ruin the spell.

The fateful moment has cast between us.

But I will never tell.

Like Midas I turn everything I touch, to cold metal.

Which, like statues, start dying on me.

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. 🙂

The Thin Line

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Life is now a stretch of eternal grey,

The lifeless transit tolls heavy on me.

The bones had just recovered

From the last catastrophic fracture…

When the glass was shattered again.

Life has gone into hibernation,

And yet something refuses to die inside me.

The metal window is dented forever,

After too many times the hammer beat on it.

However much I try to say otherwise,

My dreams had always been better than fair life.

That is why some people say, love is like walking a thin line,

Between insanity and gravity. Chaos and harmony.

It will bind you in, if you find your niche,

Or put you out to the mercy of the cruel world, if not.

It’s how it’ll always be.

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My Promise.

I’ll always love you.

I’ve always loved you.

And I will always love you.

Others will come into my life, like every morning is new, and we try new things, every other day.

But every night, like I put on a different set of clothes, to sleep away the lonely, tragic hours,

I drink you in like an exotic wine, some magic potion…

that erases every thing and rewinds time back to the day we met.

The day, I traded in my soul to the devil,

That I may remember you as the only man in my life.

And then I remember everything.

Oh, and with love…

A Cynical Me

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These violent delights have violent ends…

Why, I couldn’t remember that,

Before I gave away my heart,

In just a fancy little fantasy?

 

But now I know, it’s all the same.

What I’ve become, I don’t wanna know.

It’s only me now, the only one,

Who can surprise me in my ire.

And nothing else.

 

No more fire. No more violence.

Just stretches of grey foggy dreariness everywhere,

Hard as rock, the hall of stones stand,

Like walls of doom over me.

 

Like a volcano too cools down one day.

Then rocks do not react to water or a touch.

That’s where violent fantasies end,

And worldly delights begin…

– – one soul mate, that is me – –

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As I see myself so happy, I am hurt.

There’s no reason for me to be happy anymore.

When my lips wouldn’t stretch further in a fake smile,

I find something wailing, unbearably loud, inside.

That shrill noise goes on breaching all my fortresses,

Setting to fire, my mighty monuments of fantasy,

And, ah, hope after all these years of pining in the inferno.

Sometimes I wish I could just pull it out of myself,

The deadly masque, which like symbiote,

Sticks to me, plays hoaxes through me.

The masque, that has slowly started,

To imitate me, but in subtle ways,

So very different.

 

Dreams that are never going to come true,

Why, O’ why, my dear heart,

Still so busy weaving them?

Why, wait for imaginary footsteps,

While living in a palace of glass,

In the middle of a desert lake?

 

At last like your only well wisher,

Like a hopeless Knight in shining armour,

For you, he never will be,

I wish to tell you of a few truths,

You’ve already always known as have I–

In the end, you will be the one, starkly alone.

Only your joy and blood will be hurt when,

Which already is too late, you decide it’s time;

To see the clear truths, that had been untouched all along.

That now you pretend to see and ignore.

Aged

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The morning light touches me with a twinge of guilt,
When my sunken eyes peer through tear splashed glass.
The night of mighty dust gales had hidden stars from me.
The tempest of last night, has left my courtyard wet,
The rains washed my glasses clean, also the last tears.
Messed my hair, but smoothened out many other things.
The storm has passed now, now that morning’s hit the streets,
The winds, I had learned to tame, have blown me back home.

Cured of Your Pride

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It’s been long since,

Since i’ve been living on scraps.

Faraway stars too dimmed my heart’s shine,

Once which used to burn as bright as the sun.

It’s been long since a smile sprang up,

Willingly on my desiccated lips,

Which once used to be as plush as a plume.

Blackened by poisons, and waiting,

For your presence in my room.

Hopes never germinate from ashes,

And one that would rise,

I’ve smashed that spark with a painful butt.

And fed it a handsome drink to kill.

It would have burnt me up, I felt.

In no time, an inferno spreading like a wildfire.

I gave up everything, even the hope of winning one day…

Without love, without hope I took to live, in my poor hut.

But then the Phoenix rose, from the wet ashes, outdoor,

And took a flight right through my window.

All the smothered prayers, and beheaded hopes,

Were finally answered in my favor.

Finally destiny brought you back outside my door.

It’s your familiar knock on my door,

I know from imagining you in many of my fantasies,

But it’s been long since I haven’t had that dream,

While I burned all along, hoping to see it all once again,

But then your knock was never heard, when I needed it most.

My ears, exploited with loud music for quick escapes,

Cannot hear it now when it’s really you,

Knocking, on my door.

I wouldn’t ask for your forgiveness,

For my ill behaviour–

Since it’s been long and you never apologized for yours.

But I wouldn’t open up my door.

Once you stranded me all alone, but stronger I am now.

Today I’m a girl out of love, but my heart’s happy tonight.

My pride, you wounded, I broke yours.

Come tomorrow, we’ll share a verse.

High

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O’ you, miserable, miserly wretched geek,

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

.

Because numbers in your bank passbook,

Doesn’t stand for smiles that take your look.

.

Waking up, you will see it one day,

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

.

All cooped up inside your little nest, you are

Like an angry, very angry bird.

.

As much you want,

You can peck and punch through your walls,

But no ear still, will hear your cries.

.

(You can’t eat your gadgets,

I know you will not ever–)

.

Ashtrays will go on piling up, more and more

The dustbin overflowing with paper and rust.

.

Decaf will always remain stuck to your mug,

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

.

Old and haggard, you’ll turn with time,

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

.

Lying in your bed you’ll cough and toss,

But no hand will touch your forehead with love.

.

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

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

.

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