tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24639676180585792882024-03-12T21:07:23.730-07:00Keatsian LyrePoetry by
Remya Mohan, IndiaRemya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-7442580206292607672007-07-06T04:28:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:29:42.994-07:00Father and DaughterMy daughter dear, divine gift,<br />You are now all of twenty-five,<br />I see that you are all adrift,<br />Do moor and dock while I am alive.<br /><br />Precious princess, don't be dull,<br />Papa loves you all the same,<br />Yet, the time has come to mull over<br />The rules of the mating game.<br /><br />Pot of gold, I live for you,<br />I wish you to live happily,<br />For that this one thing we must do,<br />Find you another family.<br /><br />Look here, one day I will place your hand,<br />In the sweaty palm of a suitable man,<br />He will then be your promised land,<br />To cherish and love all your life time.<br /><br />When you were little, my heart, my core<br />I bought you stories, long and short,<br />They spoke of knaves and Kings of yore,<br />Filled with human values of import.<br /><br />Princes and paupers the same graves ply,<br />Sceptres and sickles come to the same,<br />Go for the best, I am there by your side,<br />Whatever you wish for, simply take aim.<br /><br />I gave you love, I gave you might,<br />I told you to go live your life right,<br />Sometimes you failed me, sometimes not,<br />Yet, in you, I lost faith not.<br /><br />I know that you are a misplaced idealist,<br />My poor little girl, my lassie naive,<br />This cruel word has its own grind and grist,<br />And much little room for your dusty Palgrave.<br /><br />I remember having told you once,<br />At any stage in life to remember<br />And be at ease with the fact<br />That ultimately we are all alone.<br /><br />Learn to confront yourself with that truth<br />And my baby, you will have peace of mind,<br />I know that you will sit by my dutiful feet<br />And tend to my careworn frazzled frame.<br /><br />You tell me you are no pastoral maid,<br />Who coyly waits for love to beat her breast<br />You say you are a brazen De Beauvoir,<br />Who seeks not security in your nuptial bed.<br /><br />You say you will stand alone,<br />Wed, Single or divorcee,<br />You want to make your own mistakes,<br />Which you may live to repent and regret.<br /><br />You may run to me at times of self-strife,<br />But never blame me for the state of your life?<br />You may ask me for money if you are hard up,<br />But never demand it of daughterly right?<br /><br />Do as you wish, my lovely pearl,<br />I will live by you and die by you,<br />You are a woman of matter and mettle,<br />Papa is always proud of his girl.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-51656736830139319672007-07-06T04:27:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:28:47.479-07:00Ode to Henry Louis Vivian DerozioA memory lost in nameless grave,<br />India remembers you no exalted more,<br />She bears not how you loved her lore,<br />To you he is none but Sahib White,<br />A Wilful colonial oppressor.<br /><br />I set down your freckled name today,<br />On the hoary rocks of Jungheera,<br />Where all at once can witness true,<br />The doubting mane of manicktollah,<br />Spirit wafting the smoky greens.<br /><br />Then seated under an unhurried tree,<br />Lost in pensive melodious quill,<br />Silken thoughts sighing your soul,<br />Hybrid vigour churning your mind<br />In sleepless fits of rhythmic rhyme.<br /><br />Tuned to the music of nature's pulse,<br />Your sensible beat of passionate vein,<br />Throbbing with the heartbeat of grass<br />Burning with the widow on her promising pyre,<br />Loving with a feeling full of innocent fire.<br /><br />Of Byron's beautiful, dark wan brood,<br />Browning's wondrous tender love mood,<br />Black eyes, twinkling, silent, deep,<br />For ignorant humanity, wanton weeps.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-63107143421713966192007-07-06T04:27:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:27:40.894-07:00ReflectionsLet us not tempt fate,<br />For she makes a bad godmother,<br />To children born out of wedlock.<br /><br />If only you could can your<br />Barbed wire branded humour.<br />It claws me like a lusty cat.<br /><br />It is of that self-pity that I write,<br />That shallow tenderness,<br />Some of us call it love.<br />The flowery sandals and scarred feet,<br />They make my self-image.<br /><br />Mistreated witch of inverted priorities,<br />Realising the wrong things,<br />Thinking them true.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Time running out,<br />My cake slice lies foul,<br />In company with other<br />Culinary experiments gone bad.<br />Hard, tasteless and out of shape.<br />Maybe a skilled chef can render it tolerable,<br />That is my only piece, my last.<br /><br />Trying to imagine,<br />That when gone, my near and dear<br />Will be in a room full of light,<br />Knowing everything there is to know<br />In a cosmic jiffy,<br />While I pine on in a sub-deathly ignorance.<br />Could I turn my mind inside out,<br />And see the insides of reality<br />Or truth or beauty or love?<br />If I can think of them,<br />Why cannot I see them?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Or is it that I am a creature<br />Of shallow sensibility<br />Who learned by infra-experiential rote,<br />These ideas passed on in indifferent print?<br /><br />Yet, I am human.<br />There has to be a continuum<br />Between the lowest and highest,<br />Somewhere to be sighted, isn't it?Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-8142531298556331742007-07-06T04:26:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:27:00.058-07:00Cosmic JoyNo quest for infinity,<br />It may be an idea,<br />Never to be a thing,<br />Like love,the universe,<br />God and sin.<br /><br />Feel and relegate feeling<br />To a telescoped consciousness,<br />That moves erratic<br />Between indistinct realms,<br />Flitting across flickers<br /><br />Take up a thought,<br />Like a garment's texture<br />That is all it is,a passing sensation<br />Wrought by forces unseen but<br />In your control.<br /><br />Cultivate independence of mind,<br />Not arrogant self-righteousness,<br />No self-indulgent fascism,<br />A sense of duty,sense of shame past,<br />Of life alone.........<br /><br />Ultimately alone....<br />and revelling in happy life.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-31447884729634953052007-07-06T04:26:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:26:33.723-07:00To MothersHer mellow grace and subtle charm,<br />Her childish wit and easy manner,<br />Her classy ways all go to make her what she is<br />And will be, mine forever; a mother.<br />Even when she and I are gone,<br />In a time capsule of verse,<br />These words will write her name<br />Over and over.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-53317508084614338182007-07-06T04:25:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:26:03.013-07:00Today's ChildKnowledge as it seems to me, <br />Is where, when and how had been, <br />Sulling bright-eyed sparks that be, <br />Numbers, names, places unseen. <br /><br />Named after auspicious stars, <br />Gods, goddesses, planets far, <br />Blessed to receive life’s nitty-gritty, <br />By ordained agents of the almighty. <br /><br /><br />Not stronger against death, <br />Not stronger towards life, <br />Just restless and at strife, <br />With all and with myself.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-55071250991333580502007-07-06T04:25:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:25:27.989-07:00DutyA feeling that changed me,<br />The leafy silhouette<br />Flashed lightning in its gaps<br />And the knowledge that<br />What I thought was is not<br />Blends inside and later,<br />Clears up better.<br /><br />Everything is as good<br />As I make it<br />To a measure,<br />Will and time<br />Amount to nothing<br />But can keep me<br />Content within search.<br /><br />This summer evening<br />Marked by misty bursts,<br />I calibrate my past,<br />Index my future,<br />Trial,pain<br />Not in vain<br />What I chose.<br /><br />In my power,<br />Fortunate being,<br />People to love,<br />Love back more<br />Never in need of sincerity.<br />Lucky, quite sparkish,<br />Creature of ideas and put-uppances.<br /><br />Who hurts people.<br />This is a new call<br />To duty beautiful<br />Satisfying, yet more stretchly.<br />Never did, now dearly.<br />Again, that's what I choose to try.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-19300393542152406512007-07-06T04:23:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:24:30.682-07:00Urban DelusionSwept away in hyperbole,<br />I by-passed a much needed reality-check.<br />The only memories of our earlier life<br />Are in department store gift wrapping<br />That I save and savour<br />In deliberate sorrow,<br />paper shells in which<br />I hand out recycled feelings to you, unnoticed.<br /><br /><br />Love, a popular one-word-fits-all euphemism,<br />An endocrine surge.<br />It sells, maims, kills and resuscitates too.<br />I know you are no Keats who loved<br />An ambiguous Fanny till his gnawing consumptive death,<br />Nor a Yeats who wooed his Maud to perfection<br />All I ask for is to feel alive,<br />In your life, mind and being.<br /><br />I grow dizzy on the outer vortex<br />Of the teeming whirlpool that is your life.<br />Languishing on the periphery<br />Of your perceptive field,<br />Yet, most jarred.<br />Our realities are<br />Just personal constructs,<br />One for me and another for you.<br /><br />Your dire sorrow makes not<br />My lack of joy<br />Any less poignant.<br />Your black and my white<br />Makes a common<br />Mid-way pallid gray,<br />Where cheer has not a chance,<br />Nor cathartic grief any scope.<br /><br />What’s that you say?<br />You couldn’t keep your sacred vow?<br />No matter, darling,<br />Just toss it along<br />On our common scrap-heap of promises,<br />The only thing we share,<br />Except of course<br />For a bed and bathroom slippers.<br /><br />Why argue over my Spanish lessons?<br />I need them to stay ahead<br />And make sure that<br />I am decisively chosen<br />For the deputation next time around.<br />I also like to drive around alone at night,<br />I need to feel independent.<br />You wouldn’t understand.<br /><br />Just like you need<br />To meet your foreign client,<br />Every weekend at that classy restaurant.<br />Its work, I know, dearest.<br />And Sunday mornings are the only times<br />Your stallion honchos<br />Can find time to swap wife-jokes<br />And slap backs over hormonal escapades.<br /><br />Have you noticed that<br />My diction has moved<br />From Daniel Jones to<br />Prime-time soap opera bombshell?<br />In your absence,<br />Digital phantoms entertain me,<br />And netizen compatriots<br />Calm my frayed nerves.<br /><br />Did I tell you that<br />My hair now falls in clumps<br />And that my face needs a lift?<br />And this inspite of the mail-order<br />Volume-inducing potions<br />And anti-cellulite concoctions.<br />The fantasy is finally spent,<br />But do we notice?<br /><br />Never dreamt of looking<br />Coyly at a husband<br />With whom I would whelp<br />In our bondage,<br />‘We two, our two’.<br />Must I look to motherhood<br />To deliver me from my malignant ache,<br />That simmers on our kitchen stove?Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-49337130103469165832007-07-06T04:23:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:23:31.014-07:00ForgivenessA wakeful grandeur to toss in tonight, <br />But, to when does this pleasing picture endure? <br />Cannot still handle my beating guilt, <br />Does the night air cure a lonely aching heart? <br /><br />Escaping view of my inner plight, <br />Finding your sylvan grace of forgiveness further ahead, <br />Gleeful resuscitation that thrives on single sight, <br />How a convulsive cold chill you warmed mellow mature. <br /><br />I know not why my past I dread, <br />Just feeling the in and out of layered past, <br />Keep me, a trinket, that used to line your bed, <br />Lofty airs I now have none to cast. <br /><br />Many a dusk, you drew out in to dawn, <br />Never a tinge of blame or curse you let me feel, <br />Only a pining sense of silence and love stillborn, <br />Pleasing play of bygone halts my insane reel. <br /><br />Quieter than ever, I, a defeated thing, <br />Rueful to all but you, my saviour bright, <br />Sinking your healing words in to my soul, <br />To raise my sense of hollow existence. <br /><br />Unless I give in to your calm and pensive embrace, <br />Vivid joy I am rendered incapable of, <br />Why I am so important to you, <br />Explanations cannot be found. <br /><br />Yet, the faith that colours your forgiveness, <br />Zealously I guard, as you breathe in to me, <br />A new life.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-42474249648683427452007-07-06T04:22:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:22:51.713-07:00De-layeringFear of disclosing<br />Raw disconnection,<br />Vacuous ambition,<br />Pretentious notion<br />Of well-written verse,<br />Therefore, revision blues.<br /><br />To add on a Wildean flourish,<br />Or stick to a domestic strain?<br /><br />To position oneself as a poet,<br />Is it conscious a process?<br />Does it happen naturally?<br />As you write,<br />As you learn and laugh to cry?<br />But I grow older, know no better.<br /><br />A postcolonial doldrum wannabe,<br />Or a stifled keatsian drunk on the sea?<br /><br />To gain brownies of a battered world,<br />Womens's groups or animal rights,<br />On whom may I smother my bewildered words?<br />But, whom am I kidding?<br />Is this piece itself a cry for consideration,<br />For praise on subversion?<br /><br />An attempt to crawl on to global paper,<br />And be witnessed by the critic's eye?<br /><br />Else, why yearn to publish,<br />Long-held private space?<br />A covert poet<br />Is no poet at all for the world.<br />Why the scramble at competitions?<br />As any other, the poet is no grander.<br /><br />The need to be acknowledged, be admired,<br />Runs in every creative vein, deny it howsoever.<br /><br />It may be a precedence lesser or larger<br />Than the inspired contentment,<br />But it exists incontestably all the same.<br />Just as doing good feels fine,<br />Why rebuff that we do it<br />For our own being, as well?<br /><br />I go all agog over toothless trill,<br />And digest a whole lot of gobbledygook.<br /><br />I ruminate over<br />New-historicism and post-modernism.<br />I take the trouble,<br />Because I want to be seen.<br />I have a simple, short life,<br />Here today, Gone tomorrow.<br /><br />I need to leave a mark,<br />And see what I can do.<br /><br />And the day I spotted verse,<br />The moment I felt the urge<br />To put in to words of untold type,<br />I knew this is where I was headed.<br />To see on cover, a name fond to<br />Me and those who I treasure.<br /><br />To make them proud,<br />And beam and buoy, along with me.<br /><br />To understand what goes on inside,<br />In my craggy,<br />Presumptuous mind.<br />This is not adulatory self-reproach.<br />The only time I am myself<br />Is when I write this styled out stuff.<br /><br />It gives me identity, it gives me self,<br />I let it take over.<br /><br />I have no control over the root,<br />But,twice refined through maze of thought,<br />It comes out half-born,<br />Sometimes grim, rock faced,<br />Or maybe at times,<br />Grosser still.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-54198799869444281322007-07-06T04:21:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:22:20.317-07:00DilemmaThere is no limit,<br />interests are cold,<br />A farce, live it,<br />clay set in gold.<br />A change so jolting,<br />to what does amount?<br /><br />Smooth voices giddying,<br />complacency does rout.<br />Stop the jarring beeps,<br />they repeat to imbalance,<br />a guarded insecurity peeps,<br />and sees through a false grace.<br /><br />None created yet perfect,<br />a detached air much needed.<br />tug spasmodic instincts,<br />all crashes and burns left unheeded.<br />Imagine our cuffs disengage,<br />security & order inescapable,<br /><br />Free from dynamic bondage,<br />laid back practical inevitable.<br />tinge of hint so disturbs,<br />out pours steamy silence,<br />How much can endurance curb,<br />without resort to dreamy violence?<br /><br />The way out is not visible,<br />but why try at all?<br />When no means are feasible,<br />and states change in a call?Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-56597366499955659602007-07-06T04:21:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:21:48.304-07:00Eyes In Gray MarbleA flinching ballast brand of gray……………<br />Flickers in your bloodshot eyes……………..<br />Elgin Marbles polished white……………….<br />Branding irons sparking bright………..Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-44358035529360444232007-07-06T04:20:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:21:12.897-07:00Fly to OlympusI am sure you never did express your best, <br />A reveling colt in a thoughtful meadow <br />Before time, sapped to death and laid to rest, <br />A spirit bounding, of stoic meed must fate lead to sorrow. <br /><br />In life, in living, in phlegm and heave, <br />To break a corpse, to shred a pertinent one <br />She glides in slither-gown, yet bade not leave, <br />Watched you wasting, yet, to you, she is none. <br /><br />Lover of right, in form, in lays, <br />Of truth and outdoor blithe-cheer sanity <br />Of casements ope and bright-lit ways, <br />A moderate vision of tempered humanity. <br /><br />Sense is enlivened, passage suppressed, <br />Cascade in blinks, each ravishing beauty <br />Perfect in grace, subtle-eyed impressed, <br />The restraint, the poise of poetic duty. <br /><br />Friend to ages, Monarch of youth, <br />Hysterical congruous, voluptuous intense <br />For direction and love, a Greek in truth, <br />Innocent perusals, inspiring musical sense. <br /><br />Yearn for Olympian lyre and prophetic zones, <br />The sign of warm love’s kiss on Psyche’s face <br />Keep looking, listening for figment of choric moan, <br />And the Goddess shall your endeavours embrace. <br /><br />Convey to me through a pacing candour, <br />Your heroic ascending galloping verse <br />For a mind to perceive through centuries racing, <br />All that is apt is in poetic ether to immerse.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-6457558832392660822007-07-06T04:20:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:20:43.573-07:00An Apotheosis"O’ye who have your eyeballs vext and tired<br />Feast them upon the wideness of the sea,<br />O’ye whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,<br />Or fed too much with cloying melody-<br />Sit ye near some old caverns mouth and brood,<br />Until ye start as if the sea nymphs quired.<br /><br />On the Sea<br /><br />John Keats"<br />----------<br /><br /><br /><br />Enthralled by timeless Breathing about,<br />The lure of unexplained shores and a mighty rush,<br />Which has limits prodigious,<br />Only godly intrusion can render them unwelcome.<br /><br />A shivering spectacle creates no creation,<br />This what I wrote does quell my distemper,<br />It lent back some slumber I ventured,<br />I am falling back in to anguish again.<br /><br />Virtue is what my heart must encompass,<br />Spencer in his happy mayhem says so,<br />My ambitions shall be answered by virtue alone,<br />Without which it is rendered puerile imagination’s plaything.<br /><br />My blaze can never abate,<br />I will not let it fade away,<br />Till it harbingers a cluster of a kin,<br />With this heave I embark on my eternal work.<br /><br />I trust in the omni-potent,<br />Give me the warmth and the stuff for this endeavour,<br />Let me see in the girl next door,<br />Diana’s icy romance.<br /><br />Let me watch the peasants work,<br />And midst them, my devoted lad,<br />How will I shift from my mind<br />When not a sinew concurs?<br /><br />O, Apollo, do not punish me…<br />I have mocked you,<br />But in worship alone<br />Did my vain quill step by your mane.<br /><br />Sweet Cynthis, Charming Cynthia,<br />Symbol of beauty and voluptuous grace,<br />My soul is human and stands for my fancy<br />Taken to sea by my searching imagination.<br /><br /><br />The sea alone on this orb can render me peaceful,<br />How you love and are in awe of me, my little girl,<br />To be bonded with you in brotherliness<br />Is my lifelong privilege.<br /><br />Do not scorn a single written work, devilish act,<br />Verse humane I want to write,<br />I want to be inanimate, strong and defiant,<br />I cannot escape my ears.<br /><br />Yet the Blackwood’s acid has left me sick,<br />A patient with no will to live.<br />How can a poet be true to his vocation,<br />If his creative faculty waits for its own creations?<br /><br /><br />No, there can be no such artist,<br />Who deserves to live,<br />And so I must die a poetic death,<br />Since I have undone mine own poetic duty.<br /><br />No, I will not dwell on my woes,<br />I am shy and fear to share,<br />My abilities are slave to needs,<br />Why do these scrapes rack me so?<br /><br />Prod and invoke my sleeping self,<br />It seems onerous,<br />Hark…the world watches,<br />But are all these millions of eyes watching me alone?<br /><br />I learn from noisy mouths,<br />Setting fear in my heart and flow in my lines,<br />I am no versifier, I set bones,<br />Why gull my own senses with imagined fame?<br /><br />Yet the smell of a pod is ether to mine sense,<br />I live in nether world,<br />Between saving souls and lifting them,<br />Thus belonging nowhere.<br /><br />As I walk across these square laid stones,<br />Knowing all too well where I go,<br />These walls standing for a two hundred something,<br />They guard me from the present.<br />…………………………………<br />How beautiful you lie in a wet grave,<br />England’s honourable son,<br />You may not have charmed so,<br />In furrowed hide and blunt gaze.<br /><br />Your fame would mar itself,<br />And you would be the century’s child,<br />Not an alluring youth,<br />In a poignant sepulcher.<br /><br />This youth, a countenance so icy,<br />Every aspect tuned to the expressive whole,<br />I fear brevity inspite of the great bard,<br />Why did no great indulge in it yet?<br /><br />O England, My England,<br />My last breath for you and my Mother Nature.<br />I will bury my feel, Sense and ardour,<br />In to my task unseen, a two headed Janus.<br /><br />Tonight I am as good as a dead man,<br />My faculty is dry…. Help me Mother,<br />You are here in my being,<br />But how do I bring forth thee?<br /><br />Your mystery shall never be unearthed,<br />Laid in your infested tomb,<br />Your life is open to guessing,<br />So can you and you and I too.<br /><br />I write, I work, my noisy imitations left the crowds wild,<br />Crying pains need no dreamy apothecary,<br />And wordy man heeds no surgical melody,<br />I write in volumes, for my creativity flows.<br /><br />Else, which may lose its ease of wave,<br />I may love what my mother provided,<br />But I will not write her as my focus,<br />Unless I have none else.<br /><br />Every nook, every sapling, every book, every happening,<br />Is my issue for poetry,<br />As long as it scintillates my five foeish friends,<br />As long as it stirs up my latent core.<br /><br />My fairy, she is weak because I doubt her,<br />I want to dedicate myself to you, little one,<br />But I know my task too well,<br />And am incapacitated.<br /><br />Your spirit is light and balms your red hair,<br />You are in love with life, therein your compassion,<br />You live in an era,<br />Which wants to escape this helpless optimism.<br /><br />Ignore my little fairy, damn her,<br />Disfigure her gentle wings with your acrid tongues,<br />I am a sick bird, who looks up and sees its own end,<br />Knowing what I want, I know not where to find,<br /><br />I wander still inspite of my stages of growth,<br />I am a man in search of greatness,<br />In search of centurion immortality,<br />I did not write for you to bask in critical glory.<br /><br />Spit with repugnance,<br />At my drawn out naked consciousness,<br />You will not shell my mind,<br />Or hope for my passionate withdrawal.<br /><br />I am an honourable son of this land,<br />I will make you feel,<br />In time to come,<br />Where your folly in marring my pen has been.<br /><br />The eternal bard! I seek a balance,<br />But my thoughts are always falling me,<br />Elsewhere than I want them to,<br />But they are singular in their union.<br /><br />I worship you, my little fairy,<br />My psyche true of poesy,<br />Why am I obsessed,<br />With what I seek shelter in?<br /><br />These marbles remind me so,<br />Of senses else perceived,<br />O my beautiful midget,<br />Caretaker of cheerful dock,<br />Various ships dock and leave,<br />Carrying cargo views and dreamy customs,<br />To far off lands,<br />And occupy their natives with novelty.<br /><br />Only the master ships,<br />With a dedicated crew does so,<br />Others wash away in the winds,<br />And their cargo dies unseen.<br />I do not want to see your beauty,<br />I want to experience beauty,<br />Feel my own as you see it,<br />This is what a bard must do.<br /><br />I turn; I turn; yet your shadow blocks my path,<br />I know my prophecy is mine own end,<br />I want to be disinterested,<br />Please guide me as to how.<br />I am the Prince of profligacy…<br />Excess in rhyme, in word, in sense,<br />I lie like a cadaver, oozing my life through,<br />I will use you till you tire, antithesis.<br /><br />I see all, I see clear,<br />And the importance of doing so,<br />I am me and none else I can be,<br />Nor desire to be else my vision endures.<br />If you do not know,<br />You might say poetry is coated artifice,<br />But how you declare your ignorance,<br />It is none but a profound and life-making ideal.<br /><br /><br />How I did emerge,<br />I do not want to be the greatest by imitation,<br />For I want to be myself,<br />Of all inspiration purged.<br />A poet derives the angles that fit,<br />Not from classic worship alone,<br />I must know more, my life is short,<br />And most of it passes in slumber and vapid vacancy.<br /><br />I want to transit from the literary idylls of the past<br />To the evident and fresh sublime,<br />The precious past’s shackles are to be broken,<br />And a new mindset to be born.<br />Idealism gives us tradition, Classics and the opportunity<br />To sieve out the best, and on the other hand,<br />It kills the self-inclination and forces upon us,<br />A feeling of incompetence for originality.<br /><br />Originality, which is confused,<br />With pretty imitation of former greats,<br />Instead of being criticized,<br />For writing a lifeless epic…<br />Originality is subjective,<br />I am ignorant, tormented,<br />And numb yet possess,<br />A Mood-less mind.<br /><br />A conscious stepping up of thoughts,<br />In the human mind, Sonnet to ode,<br />Infinite steps, psyche-‘perfection personified’<br />The model for an utopian future.<br />The greatness of a poet is determined,<br />By the grade of steps that he has achieved,<br />And the plane of thought,<br />Coincides with the stair level.<br /><br />You feature high though<br />The time factor lags you behind,<br />You are a son of the sea,<br />Your expression dictates so.<br /><br /><br />After a particular high step<br />We see only mist and no clarity<br />Feel numb to all sensations except pain<br />Like ascending a mountain.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-69063570809825232522007-07-06T04:19:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:19:53.214-07:00IDENTITYI live to create impressions.<br />A two-faced work, that’s how I see myself.<br /><br />Secretive, oblique<br />And oh, so obtuse,<br />Sometimes I don’t know<br />Why I say what I do or dont,<br />And why I do what I do.<br />At other times, I do.<br /><br />I am so inward, for I never wonder<br />What I will if he did what I do.<br /><br />I have a process,<br />Of living, of life,<br />You had your chances,<br />You will have more.<br />This is not the end.<br />There is no end.<br /><br />Judgements may help you see better,<br />But the ultimate voice is still your own.<br /><br />Every generation,<br />Their complex baggage<br />To outgrow endeavour,<br />To eat their own<br />Slice of sweet pie,<br />The ceaseless irony of maturity.<br /><br />Every life, the starting point for<br />A divine argument, If ever such a thing exists.<br /><br />Bogged in a queer sense of fear<br />That my books will not miss me<br />When I pass away.<br />When the past visits and away,<br />When partnership fails,<br />Yet holds your sway.<br /><br />Decide not to move to your impulse,<br />Do not fall prey to your own false sense.<br /><br /><br />You think you have family values,<br />But you fool yourself, you have none.<br />You are a limited intellectual,<br />You may have lots to give,<br />But you have changed<br />The course of your life,<br /><br />In to merry submission to alien<br />Whims of love’s regulation books.<br /><br />So live on, love on,<br />If this is where you wish to dock,<br />Settle and know,<br />That any port is but a resting place,<br />Do not fool yourself with the planned agony of permanence,<br />It does not exist.<br /><br />These words, these thoughts,<br />Are but particles in an infinite expansion,<br /><br />There are no ifs and buts in space,<br />So live your petty little life to the fullest,<br />Pledge nothing,<br />Gain nothing.<br />Give all,<br />Gain or no gain.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-58310440074977572672007-07-06T04:18:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:19:09.567-07:00Poetic FrenzySole inspiration and breath-force right, <br />Only in moments of dire quick breath intense, <br />I see your worth in capable light. <br /><br />All pain does not result in verse, <br />Or bond across the wretched layers, <br />This mournful recall will never spare, <br />I do suffer my work, I am whole aware. <br /><br />Keeps me hanging by its flesh-hunting hooks, <br />It jarrs and scares, so clear and unfair, <br />So regular and undone, <br />Hours lost in scrape. <br /><br />Let me change them, <br />I cannot catch my own shapes, <br />These passive thoughts <br />Hold my breath, but for how long? <br /><br />Away with it, before it comes to life, <br />Inspire me, with your death in youth, <br />Your work that I left gaping, <br />Don't close up on me. <br /><br />I place an oath and it is carrying, <br />For your cause, But why does this whole line find <br />That my memory be lost? <br />Where is the likeness of my mind? <br /><br />Where untouched,pathos in blue, <br />Silvery stars blind-nudged, <br />Blushing my art anew, paddling in tumult, <br />Summarize, and find, where I slipped up. <br /> <br />All mine and your life weighed, <br />Is it mime? Fluorescent nights in nostalgic shade, <br />Smeared in productive slime, for which I labour tonight. <br />And bringing out, whatever was cryptic delightful. <br /><br />And my own I hid, and put out a metaphor, <br />Green and yellow lamps amid, <br />Cottages under pale dew beams. <br />A secret across the road, a mother's love betrayed. <br /><br /> <br /><br />But you know not, my torment, <br />You love and love only true, <br />But true does not fit in my grind; I am a chased rodent shrew, <br />On all my love and life lay, swearing and splitting. <br /><br />Why do I care? <br />Because mazes of joy I flung to bind, <br />Thought to thought and sinew to sinew, <br />Tan to wheat, and arm mouthed. <br /><br />Keep it away as you are fortunate, <br />You knew! For what cool rooted tremble <br />Thou hast known and housed, <br />I will nay know. <br /><br />What past realisation and morbid twirl you clutch, <br />I never feel. Cured. <br />A diseased, uncared for creative bout, <br />And letting go my tired eyes shut. <br /><br />Enduring and paying, <br />And lay me moon-dead, by your side, <br />Unflinching space, <br />I give up my ensnared time. <br /><br />And all will flame over my face, <br />Burn to scorch this earthy grime, <br />And I now cease out of verse, <br />And do repeal my unworthy dedication. <br /> <br />Ignore my raging tortuous climb. <br />Now, for it I do regret, <br />As every poet of all climes do, <br />Spawn in words, multiply and beget. <br /><br />My high-tipped, shameful stray that grew, <br />Lie and know, that fervour will die not, <br />For your airy casement, <br />Lets me in whenever I please to please.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-87239498718217116702007-07-06T04:18:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:18:34.753-07:00NightAn inspired night so potent,<br />That does churn state of repose,<br />Brims feel, jabs sense,<br />And numbs presence to all else.<br /><br />Cool clairvoyant midnight blue,<br />Does bring forth stores of latent muse,<br />That sinister sunshine's blinding hue,<br />Does render lost and buff confused.<br /><br />Drizzle perceived by ear alone,<br />Prompts feel of flow of time and space,<br />A grim sense of task undone,<br />Grips to life a tramping gaze.<br /><br />To fumid vision, all is shut,<br />That does not act in strictest bind,<br />But its gauze can veil one not,<br />If refuge is wrought in mageing mind.<br /><br />In this darkness, delight dwells,<br />Of stealth stroll through wary walks,<br />Where stalwart conscience weighs one on,<br />And fears no anger, love nor scorn.<br /><br />A breeze, a mist, the spangled sky,<br />A quiet privity does endow,<br />Daylight's cheer nor rabble joy,<br />Does the balmy night bestow.<br /><br />All morn, the common reason wakes,<br />And shapes commands to mortal hours,<br />But shift-eyed twinkle shade it takes,<br />To stab the sleeping soul awake.<br /><br />Of secluded order, each aware,<br />Struggles to be amidst the odds,<br />But the vaster canvas doth appear,<br />To one who vents to pulse beyond.<br /><br />Shut eyed visions, fancy's plays,<br />Discordant strips of coloured fear,<br />Do, harass, maul, and pain severe,<br />The one within.<br /><br />To decadent dawn, now do head,<br />To harsh new ways that do unscroll,<br />This revelation, then must end,<br />For shocking glares are in store.<br /><br />The first bright villain blazons,<br />And kills the drowsed delighting gloom,<br />Come again, bitter ease,<br />That each channel does engage.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-63170537332490625152007-07-06T04:17:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:18:04.132-07:00It started with the morning rain...I wake up drained,<br />From a drizzly dream.<br />The fan turns,<br />My knees ache.<br />It is hereditary.<br />Black patches,<br />I owe to clime.<br />Time passes,<br />I see myself,<br />Full-breasted,<br />Leaning to pluck fruit<br />In an art gallery.<br /><br />A set of wet pliers,<br />On the sill.<br />Where I left them,<br />Two days ago.<br />Things unseen within,<br />Are manifold desirable.<br />Yet, when recovered,<br />Mires in to routine mundane.<br /><br />To and fro the panes creak,<br />Rust-burnt, yet strong,<br />They have seen me,<br />Grow up alone.<br />My solitary world,<br />Fantastic guests at every stage,<br />As appropriate to mood and age.<br />Some distant, ethereal,<br />Some mere below.<br />My still life untouched,<br />by Blue Mountains.<br />The ecstasy,the sheer view,<br />The trickly twinkle of morning dew,<br />Shrieks and garbles<br />From tinted throats<br />Daily invoke<br />Our divine orb<br />Of ginger hue.<br /><br /><br /><br />Those hills,<br />They are not mine,<br />Jealous as they roam,<br />Higher up the country.<br /><br />I will never visit them,<br />For, childish visions,<br />I desire to retain.<br /><br />A feeling remembered,<br />Of sunrise repast,<br />Unclear, but telling.<br />The smoke and the smells,<br />The caves and the spells,<br />Of an undiscovered tribe.<br />Their dwellings clean,<br />Chequered-light lazy woods<br />Dotted in smooth gray stone seats.<br /><br />When I return,<br />`A fantastic hoax',<br />My hills, a colony may house,<br />Of urban employees.<br />Or worse,<br />its scrub may leave it Dark Green,<br />And unfit for dawn mist dreams.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-85363310789837033772007-07-06T04:16:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:17:23.338-07:00PurgatorySin carries retribution,<br />Covetous,corporeal,<br />Preposterous confusion.<br /><br />Trial,error,comedy's pain<br />Truth,memory,hope,<br />In one swashbuckle slain.<br /><br />Oozy remembrance bleeds,<br />Accursed to perpetuity,<br />A crestfallen meed.<br /><br />The crouched disease,<br />Affects mild-mannered modesty,<br />Claims what not held fair.<br /><br />Move to a free flap,<br />Feathery limbs,<br />Pry out self-sword rapacious.<br /><br />Ease side's wound-dig,<br />Warm at a fire,<br />Heat,light.<br /><br />To woo pleasant discord,<br />To breed a sight,<br />Of further Plight.<br /><br />To recognise circular unity,<br />Longitudinal fate,<br />Crosses plain with own shame.<br /><br />Unseen with soul,<br />As of Derozio's grass,<br />Quiet conscience?<br /><br />Tremulous wafts,<br />Lilting cadence,<br />Inspires life-lees.<br /><br />In all guilt,<br />I yet dream,<br />Righteous,innocent spirits.<br /><br />Move,swaying,<br />Yeatsian spires?<br />Created,destroyed,<br />All in a single 'HEAVEN'S DAY'?Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-60811171978866089182007-07-06T04:15:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:16:44.578-07:00Soul EclipseThis manifestation grows, <br />And reassurance, I crave need. <br /><br />Crass indolence, <br />Plays her puerile game, <br />My vile dreams, <br />Have just erased a name. <br /><br />Your eyes will not meet, <br />My lashing lonely shore, <br /> <br /><br />A moment in time, <br />Like orbiting fame, <br />A distracted exhibition, <br />My wishes lame. <br /><br />Step out of it, it cannot be, <br />Alls not well that ends true, <br />Mortal seconds added to me, <br />We cannot ourselves sue. <br /><br />As slime takes breathing form, <br />Within the fold unholy, <br />You say the blade will fall, <br />Unasked, duly, inevitably. <br /><br /><br />My nerves sparking, <br />Eyes burning, <br />A janusian lover, <br />Is no legitimate cover.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-4115577484176392022007-07-06T04:14:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:15:20.375-07:00TraditionA collective body of might, <br />Discuss, discern, and direct us, <br />They turn our heads and assume right, <br />Waves that interfere in to incoherent fuss <br />Beg, leave it to our souls, <br />Love, indifference sometimes pays, <br />Move off our heaving hearts, <br />And ventilate us back to breathing reason. <br />True to life, a varied world, <br />Unascertained actions forever haunt, <br />Accusation unlikely, I hurled, <br />My simple days in you I jot, <br />Gain to all, loss to two.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-37216044305942674852007-07-06T04:12:00.000-07:002007-07-06T04:14:49.045-07:00LinksLeave me to my own peace <br />A beguiled idealist, <br />Of a human instinct to procreate. <br /><br />We are a manifestation of God’s propagation. <br />Of lust and shallow sentimentality, <br />There is nothing that bonds us. <br /><br />I expect you to do things that I don’t, <br />We embody nothing higher, <br />No embellished claims. <br /><br />Why do we gull ourselves in lascivious pretence? <br /><br />That we offer to this time, <br />At least a memorable toast, <br />Of love and feeling never lent afore. <br />Remya LaraRemya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-21543811689012916302007-07-06T04:11:00.002-07:002007-07-06T04:12:12.455-07:00Never BreakSecure it! I will too, <br />At disgruntled aim, frowning, <br />Bleak dew of conflict near drew, <br />In clash of elements groaning. <br />You, forever here, but hovering, <br />Try, form a link through it all, <br />My sense and your deeds in unison, <br />Shall cling and not fall. <br />My time of no value, <br />Your life in watery drops of drudge, <br />The world is blind to them, I grant you, <br />But, they set my aches to life. <br />Go, declare my listlessness, <br />Emancipate my closed mind, <br />I shoulder your stray attraction, <br />And pacify your blink less pain. <br />A cooked breakfast, you receive, <br />I'll be back in a glint, <br />You will peck a good bye <br />And turn to fresh new print.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-36308485557000113402007-07-06T04:11:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:11:44.868-07:00From Sylvia To TomNever fear, I’ll ne’er miss it.<br />As thou perfect thine affection,<br />Does Jove light me the wondrous glistens far.<br /><br />Outnumbrerin’ the kisses of a lifetime.<br /><br />Strung along my lucky bracelet,<br />I feel warmth, a sunny charm,<br />A grateful promise.<br /><br />When do I enter thy fold, a greenstone leers, preying, the associate’s way.<br /><br />Full with the pugnacious slime the brim tastes,<br />No more can condescension help,<br />Tomorrow mine shall be that plinth.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463967618058579288.post-86156502508543177302007-07-06T04:10:00.001-07:002007-07-06T04:10:56.757-07:00My sinThere’s no error I cannot undo,<br />No feeling I cannot live without.<br />Every day I am a new person,<br />From the dead sheath that I moult<br />From mind and body.<br /><br />For in you lies the power to draw out of me,<br />The want to be on my feet.<br />To look past comfort,<br />Take uneasiness as it was<br />For it shall accompany for life.<br /><br />As I live, as you are.<br /><br />To inculcate a little maturity,<br />To keep for myself such.<br />And not be unfaithful to be kind,<br />Not hurt to understand<br />Not defy to love.<br /><br />Wherein lies the balance?<br />You know and must tell.<br />If you have been trying,<br />Make me receptive,<br />I would learn and not pine.<br /><br />For things seemingly lost beyond redemption,<br />Merciful time forths again and again..<br />I sin…. sinned<br />I keep sinning….<br />And time heals.Remya Mohanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543107808877819561noreply@blogger.com0