Friday, Dec 01, 2023

Poetry | Weekend Musings

Poetry | Weekend Musings

As we open the door to welcome 2022 with hope and longing, here's a collection of short poems to begin New Year on a thoughtful note.


I was rushing for a meeting that morning Quickly grabbed a salwar that was peeking directly at me from the wardrobe
A black salwar
Quickly put it on, nearly entangling my leg into & tripping
Having manage to worn it quick,
I tried to tighten the string that holds it
I kept tugging at it
It was adamantly knotted
After a bit of trying
I realised it was knotted up in itself very very badly, like us, like each one of us Not the ribbon knot
But a triple worrisome knot
have you had one of those in your life?
I mean not just while wearing a salwar
But in general, in life
How they require hands, at times teeth & at times, scissors. And at times forcing you to
change them altogether into something else?
That morning i was in a fix
It was taking so much even after so many trials & patience

I gave it up, finally
For something different.
You can’t solve all knots.
Let them be.
Time is often lost.
It doesn’t actually never comes back. As though a person with stubbornness To call a wrong, right
A right, wrong
Right is right
Wrong is wrong
I stopped waiting for the wrong to become right, that day on.
Leave the wrong.

“You, knowing you”

When you go above things you know
Above this material world
You meet with words, with people
You meet with yourself sans things
You meet with your breath & your life
You meet with a real life of writing, of singing, of cooking & of eating You meet with a self you didn’t know existed
You meet with this feeling that anything is possible you know You meet with the thoughts of those, who believe in you
You meet with music, with dance, with the musk of the earth.
After a certain age you know, you come to know of yourself.
You didn’t know of this being who was born to be you or who was born in your body you have lived with this long

After a certain age in life you know, you come to know who you really are.
Actually a fragment of who you really are.

Before that its just glimpses of what other perceive you as or tell you.
What they think of you according to their notion, their thoughts,
their upbringing
They tell you of this person that you may or may not be Until one day you meet yourself, you know.


“Watching my pen”

I watched my pen looking at this blank sheet of paper for a while before it could make a move.

A move of affection, sans a malice intention.
Like the one we hope from a fellow human.