Saturday, 25 August 2012

Impulses| Broken

Impulses| Broken


My poems,
Fresh monsoon rain,
Original in a way clouds are,
Elementally ancient, visually immediate

Forgetfulness of a Sad Evening*

Yesterday, when evening left my garden
It left behind a slab of light lying in a corner
Melting quietly
I picked it up, opened my courtyard door
Walked to the wall where the pram was parked idly
I dropped it softly into the seat and pushed from behind
We went out for a stroll under the moon and the dark green canopies
Fireflies followed us all the night
Pointing yellow LED beams over the bushes and grooves
A siren kept blaring in the background
Till the east caught fire
Then they spotted me near the brook
In a clearing with my pram
And my tears that didn't deter them to call a shrink
Why I went out with a pram,
How can I explain it to those who knew nothing of the evenings?
The evenings that forget to collect their incandescent lumps
While packing their tents for the day
It was a sad evening yesterday!

*This poem got first published here and then I shared it with Poetry Foundation; they don't accept any poem that is published in any form beforehand so by their rules it had to get rejected. And it got rejected but I don't know if it is due to the aforementioned reason or it is because the poem is simply not good enough...anyway, Poetry Foundation has pretty high standards so I would not be surprised if it was the second reason though I am no good judge of my own work hence any comments/ opinion are welcome.

Incomplete Impulse*

I covered many miles more than I could count
In the dark, in the rain, with the gale and against
On foot, on my horse with or without a mount
Combing western prairies in the search of a saint

I met a fellow Indian, old man, wise eyes
He gave me a pot to smoke and find:
How does time loop when the spirit flies
How birth is nothing but a record-rewind

*It will someday become a complete poem, now it is just a fragment of an interrupted impulse.

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