Thursday, 27 June 2013

A pen in hand

It's mind boggling. I found an old yellowing notebook in my cupboard when I was cleaning it to make space, and without any reason, I just skimmed through its pages. And in one of them lied a one page write up in my own handwriting with the headline "A pen in hand". And I kid you not, I don't remember that I wrote it, leave alone remembering the thoughts in those lines. Icky feeling! Like someone else came in my mind and guided my hands to write it. Uhh.. I often get such feelings when I go through mails that I sent four or five years back. Isn't it strange to be taken aback by a thought that came out of your own mind? Anyhow, below is that small writeup(without edit). It my sound weird or incorrect or poorly edited when you read. Never mind.

A pen in hand

The power of pen is so elusive. I've had it for some years in my hand. And only now can I realise its true power. Where was I heading? Why did I learn typing? I'm a pretty fast typer. May be it's the side effect of gaming that seeped into me. Computer gaming. No, I shouldn't deviate in that direction. I've to stay here. So, power of pen. How is it different from power of keyboard. There is no research to be done on who receives it, the product of writing. Rather it's the process of generation of thought that is getting tweaked. A pen in hand is like the subconscious talking to me so fast. I've written this big bullshit in less than 2 minutes. So fast. My brain sends pen a message. Hand in work. Fingers forming pressure on the pen in a systematic way that we learnt in school from nursery to may be 1st or 2nd. And now we're accomplished. You see, there is no dishonesty involved because it's our honest childhood learning in play. However, when we type, we fudge as we learnt that somewhere in high school(i know it's sad to hear). We were mixed breeds by then with convoluted and complicated thought process. We are not who we are but the mix of our acquaintances. Really. No matter how ungiving and steady you are, you are not pure. And if you are in search of that pristine, of that original being of yourself, then grab a pen... grab a pen... and let it do the talking... to you... because my dear friend..Pens don't lie. 

Pens don't lie

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Equations in love

Bare and bold
he walks in the acid rains.
Passion warming the cold
and love filling the veins.
Wrapped around gold,
his accomplice is a flower
for whom his palm unfolds
and shields her from shower.
But the shield is double edged,
it may scratch the thread
it may guard the aroma
From reaching out to himself instead
As the two souls tumble downhill
together on sand,
their fingers may get unclutched
and make them misunderstand.
But the hearts stay together
no matter where they land,
no matter what they say
If, but, whether, can or and.
Both may shed tears
but it only catalyzes
the positive swarm against fears
when in her absence, he analyzes.
Sometimes he wobbles and sleeps
with thoughts of depart,
but all the haze clears by one look
at those divine works of art.
Both acknowledge this “fun”
of facing those word bullets
fired from the other’s gun
These fights are cute
Aren’t they?
as they rekindle the same
togetherness of the first day
When they clutched palms
referred as “night and day”
sitting on the wall beside
the far-off water bay.
“The company has been eventful.
Honey, ain’t it?
It made my life beautiful”
He said “Thanks for being part of it”

-- This poetry is a work of fiction