A book

You wanted a book dedicated to you, my dear. I could write many a story of you and me, words and silence, music and love, rain and summer.

You are a sacred space that I have never left; a home that keeps me grounded to the world of dreams, though some are lost and some found again. For I’m like the proverbial woman who lost a valuable coin and has found it again after thorough searching.

You have a bowl full of colours that fetch you happiness every day; while I keep mine clean and empty for an impulsive act of alms from you. Someday, you might give me a little from the lot you have, just to keep me from starving.

The clouds still heave and burst into tears, every now and then. Years have gone by; still you are special, by the way you brought back music to me; for I’d never forget that one day, when you made me understand that I had forgotten how to sing.

Every day, from dawn to dusk, your name is like a talisman that I keep safe from the world, till words form one by one and fill these blank pages.

Campus

It’s raining heavily this evening

But there alights a golden glow;

On the tall trees of the campus,

The fox’s wedding of the lore.

A sight enough to lift the chill,

We stand in the corridor amazed;

While a horde of boys cackle

To show who’s boss around here.

The rain looks drawn like lines,

Straight by a measured hand;

When the glow disappears sudden

We get back to work and chatter.

A cold long rainy evening it was

Made warm with our smiles.

Good Fortune

Good fortune

There was no good luck on my cards today

Not that I care much for being what I am

But my fortune was not so good enough

Without a smile to lighten my weary day.

Not that I am what you want me to be

Not that I do what you really want me to

I have always ran away yet lost miserably

For I am like a lion in a cage of the past.

A lion that the people watch and observe

Throwing bits and pieces on my tiring day

Fighting over my ownership and knowledge

With records of all my mistakes, past. 

Yet when I look at where you always sit

A stupid grin spreads across my sad face. 

Erkenci Kus

Recently, I  started watching Erkenci Kus, a Turkish serial that is about love between an extraordinary couple named Jan and Sanem. The word means an early bird or a daydreamer. In the first encounter between Sanem and Jan, Jan kisses Sanem in the dark mistaking her for his girl friend Polen. 

Sanem is a naive young girl who is in the limelight the whole time for the right and wrong reasons while Jan is a sensitive young man who happens to own a company. 

It has been a long time since I watched anything that restores my faith in romantic love and its adventures. The serial has around 56 episodes and English subtitles are available for most of them. 

You and I

You are an innocent who wears his heart on his sleeve in a world full of lies. You read a signal wrong and caused this accident of love to bloom in your heart. I am the one who knows and bears the hurts from those seething with anger, the ones who really love you and care for you. I was like a sleepwalker till you made me see what you wanted me to see. 

Your pain makes me cringe and makes me feel miserable about my carelessness.Though I broke your heart and watched you crumble, I know that it's for your own good. Yet the worlds that we inhabit will be broken down if ever our words meet. Sometimes, I wish that you will open your eyes and see me for what I really am, not what you think me for: no goddess but just an ordinary woman.

For us

Not wrapped in glitzy sheets
Nor given with graceful words
A gift casually made out of 
A used personal belonging

The thought behind the gift
Were purple hearts drawn
And scrawled on pages that
Looked like reminders

You could have pinned it 
And showed it with pride
Than make purple hearts
And make others laugh

The deep red of a riot
Soul colour of a shade.

Evenings with coffee

I would say, you were a stranger, who somehow knocked against me accidentally somewhere along the road on a rainy day. After the initial shock had worn out, we looked at each other with wonder.

You sat beside me for a friendly chat sipping hot coffee in an evening air that smelt of freshly brewed coffee and newly baked bread.

You and me spoke of things that were trivial, irrelevant to every one else in our lives. That evening was followed by many, which smelt of coffee and bread. The smells became familiar but not repellent.

Strangely the word “coffee” brings your face to the mind. After so long, when I sit with a cup of coffee and a book watching the rains, I don’t know what I look at or look for outside the window.

This rain somehow brings up memories I cannot erase. The so-called days together were not very remarkable but stay afloat just like the smell of freshly brewed coffee and newly baked bread. So much that I don’t know whether I am sad or plain hungry!

Stepford

There were forgotten words and broken promises;

Hues matched, songs played and dreams shared

From a springtime of love in another sacred space

That comes back in full riot in your shining eyes.

A world that was lost for not being a Stepford,

With long hair, obedience or even a loyal heart,

A world that was built upon years of dreams

That this elemental water had lost in time.

In the meantime, our definitions have changed;

From two strangers lost in a strange dream;

Obeying rules and breaking no boundaries,

Going from day to day without any joys.

With you, I am a sun that needs to rise and shine,

That meets your mischief with a matching hue.

Independent

You call yourself a strong woman while you are as human as we all are: strengths, weaknesses, mischief and complete dependence on your significant other. But day by day, you feed on our frailties and paint yourself strong and independent.

In your eyes, I see myself as being labelled messy, irresponsible and different yet I know that it’s the same longing to escape this maze of life that’s in your heart as well as in mine. But at times, I laugh when I see that you are too scared to walk alone in the dark; while I have lost even my longing to lean against a loving shoulder. 

Gratitude

A tear

The light of your laughter,

The wonder in your eyes,
The pride of your work,

What all have you lost,

What all did the brutes
Wrest away from you!

 We will give you the tears,

We will remember your life,
We will keep you from slander,

But then what else can we give

Who have no power to return
What you lost- a promising life.

Togetherness

You are my want, my need, my desire, my everything,
My one addiction that I never want to give up ever,
May be time- the years, the months and the days-
Might bring about a change in this feeling for you.

But I want you to know that after all these years,
I want yours to be the shoulder where I return to
With the broken scattered pieces to be held close,
And put together with a few words of consolation.

I want yours to be the eyes that hold my bold gaze,
To give in without holding anything back from me;
I want yours to be lips that greet me in surprise
To give ecstasy when most desired without saying so.

While you and I enjoy our days of mutual togetherness,
I want your love to be the kind that stays around forever.

Purple Riot

This blog is temporarily withdrawn. You can however buy this e-book purple riot from amazon. 'One customer has reviewed the book:

"I liked this collection while reading it but I am not going back to it again.
The poetry lines are subtle, well-balanced and simple. The main themes are on love, women and life in general."

I wonder why the reader felt that I like women..:-)

the moon

definitions

Teaching

Once upon a time, for a short while,

Teaching meant trying to scream above

The aeroplanes taking off nearby

 And the trains that screeched past,

While in this noise girls chatted

On the much prohibited mobile phones;

It also meant counting own mistakes

And losing your voice by Wednesday.

Now it means being silent when it rains

More because it is impossible to talk,

And may be it disturbs the lovelorn dreams

That flit across so many dreamy eyes.

The rain takes them away somewhere

An my voice drags them here back again. 

Scholar

Two contradictory currents pull
This strange intellect
That loves to string words together
Or pull apart them in analysis.

The one that loves to string words
In wild garlands of ecstasy,
Is silent and rarely present,
While the other mocks daily.

The one that pulls apart words,
To gather meanings and rules,
To make wild guesses at context,
Never comes when needed.

One voice of wild creativity
That has no rules at all;
One voice of scholarship
That finds boundaries hard.

So this life remains still,
With a journal serious trivial
That rarely ever records
The failures of the scholar.

Peace

Healing

Magnificence