Friday, July 22, 2011

And I thought I was dead..

Wonder what that warmth is
What makes the Daffodils glow..
For I thought I was dead..

Something seeped in today
Just for a moment
In the dead soul..
In the cold body

And after ages it seems
I felt it again
Life!

For it beckoned
When a poet
Wrote prose

Unlikely
Yet
A circumstance indeed

And something
Even if only for a moment
Seeped in me
And warm

I write for him
This cold dead hymn
To be engraved
On the stone that I am today

For one day
that he will pass by
and read them…

till then I rest
and he will know 
only at last
that alive I had come
when I read him.

I can’t say no more
But 
I can’t not say no more.

- Shalini


Monday, July 11, 2011

Claim/ Reclaim

At times, life has too many stories to tell..

And that's when the ink often dries up, even before it could touch itself, on the page. Waiting in the mind.

At the next waiting, it doesn't even leave a blotch.

At times' such, his hand sighs in distress.. and gives up.. each time. Every time. Paralysed. 
Paralysed again, he gives up. Destiny, his thoughts to him, ebb.
But a time comes. Sometime later in the Night. or Later in the Day. Or at a later evening.
A time comes.

It ticks. And the hand writes. The writer peers. Curious, to know what the hand has written. What is in the destiny?

Claim/Reclaim. It says.

And that's the alert.
There's enough trigger.
There's enough death.
There's enough violence.
These are, for, the last breaths.
And the dying man, gasps again.

The words flow. And I shall write again.