The Bohemian Way..

Lost !

2011-08-30T09:54:00.001+05:30

On her hands, he writes a verse..

always the lost poet

who has told a long story

in broken silence

cryptic.

In his sack,

he carries a brush,

a pencil with blunt tip

and a few sketches

he has stolen from

an unvisited memory lane.

Yesterday,

he wrote about paper boats,

fallen maple leaves

and a rainbow that has faded,

colors blended, blurred...

Sometimes, he looks at her

for a long time,

closing his eyes..

he lives in a fear,

that there will never be an escape..

that the poet will forever be lost,

found and unfound...

I found him last evening,

he looked sad...

but he reasoned,

there is nothing to be sad about.

I chose not to say,

happiness can't be reasoned.

And so he lives,

restless and resigned..

at the same time,

a lover and a loner,

broken in halves..

he tries to smoothen the edges

of what is left of the broken...

(c)Ankur

Shattered

2011-08-29T09:25:00.000+05:30

In the deafening silence

Of a hollow laugh,

Something, somewhere is often missed.

In the hundred lies we live everyday,

And the truth that remains

Naked, battered and cold

In an ego that is too proud

To just wither away, choked.

And so I stand on the edge,

Of a sad smile,

Ready to fall in the bleeding pits of eyes

Where a dream remains

Like a shred of glass.

I am ready to fall

To break into a million pieces,

Not ready to die

Without one final rebellion.

Some people reach a breaking point,

Some wait,

Torturing themselves,

Taking it all

And not once asking,

"when is enough?"

They will be freed,

After the turmoil

Destroyed

Without a trace of lie left behind

To wither slow.

There are rivers,

That revolt,

And die in their youth,

No salty surrender for them.

And so I wait,

To be hit real hard

And stand, unshaken.

To fight back

And fall for once

After the fight is won.

Without ever hearing

The countdowns.

Because I have to wait

Through every day defeats

And meaningless victories

To be shattered

With no pity.

~Ankur Srivastava

From Brookefield

2011-08-10T10:45:00.000+05:30

He sits at the bus stop

That reads Brookefield,

An urban child with no history

Of its childhood....

Shoulders limp and head thrown back,

He listens to the noise

Of cars and passers-by

That dissolves yesterday's talks.

He flicks a finger, quietly

And turns it "mute".

He walks up to the road

That leads to more such roads.

He holds the road, the grey sky above it

And the city that stretches beyond

Between his fingers

Like a canvas of flowing colors

And moving images

That mean nothing.

He rips it apart.

He spreads a faint-blue canvas

And picks his paint-brush,

A lemon-yellow morning

And eternal sadness

Of many nights

That have not slept.

He paints "waiting"

Of the city-clock

That still ticks

In some forgotten days.

He tosses away the paintbrush,

Without a signature.

He walks away

And carries the canvas along.

(c)Ankur

Love And I

2011-06-30T11:43:00.000+05:30

I don't particularly like Bollywood movies. Still, I have grown up watching them. I have often wondered why all of them revolve around a love-story and why half of those love-story reach their climax on railway-stations or airports. What is so special about a train whistling away or an announcement of the departure of a flight? I always believed that there was something special in every cliche but my mind could never fathom the reasons behind this strange liking for airports (or railway stations).

Even before railways came into existence, love had become the favorite cliche of all artists. At the age of 17 or 18, I fashioned myself as The love-poet on Orkut forums. People often commented that I have endless topics related to love to write about and I knew that they really questioned my ability to write about anything else. I wasn't offended by that question. I will tell you a secret. I think they were right. It wasn't a handicap to my limited writing talents, it was an inspiration. Love and the pain it had brought in my life. Love and the other word it had added to my silence: rejection.

I had a score to settle with love. Love, that was always present in my poems and conspicuously absent from my life. On that bronze colored afternoon, she was talking about love and I was sitting near the stairs, listening to her. She told me, her casual voice belying the seriousness in her light brown eyes, that she didn't want to find love, she wanted love to find her, she couldn't take the risk of "rejection". She wanted the perfect love. I wasn't listening to her after that. I was just looking into her eyes and they didn't shy away. She was one of the few friends I had in my new college. I knew the language her eyes were speaking. I thought of my own little tussle with love. Love finds its strength in its ability to catch you weak on your knees. I had a plan. To rob love off the surprises, the sweet tickles, the flush of emotions it can cause. I loved her like I woke up every morning, like I breathed, like I went through the daily chores of my day. I gave her love that she deserved; that I had also deserved... I had decoded the secret of love. I had made it a deliberate indulgence and a conscious decision. Commitment needs an honest will, not a malfunctioning heart.

I know she would never like what I did. But she could never know. She is happy. For three years, I have been trying to make (not "keep") her happy, every day. I tried, not with the blind faith of a sufi-devotee, but with the consistency of an honest bank-clerk. I mingled my love with thousands small insignificant moments. I failed too, at times, but, only briefly. I made sure every night to say everything she wanted to hear before she went to sleep. It worked for us.

And then the time came for the college days to be folded neatly and to be hidden in the photo albums and telephone directories. I told her not to be sad, that the distances don't matter, that we would stay "in touch" and that we would meet (for the perfect ending). She kept fearing, she cried often and time kept slipping between our fingers. It was time for "the" good bye. I hugged her tightly. I stood smiling as she went into the airport. She looked back from across the glass. My voice couldn't reach her. I touched the wall of glass between us but I couldn't hold her hands. My mind had gone blank. My calculations were blowing in some unknown storm. I could hardly breathe. And then she disappeared to collect her boarding passes, to catch her flight. And I sat down on the sidewalk. I cried silently and love smiled. Now I know, all the while, love had a plan too. To make every insignificant moment of my life wholesome, magical and love-like. And what better place than an airport for me to end this war and accept my defeat happily.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Dreamer

2011-06-22T03:08:00.000+05:30

He made a paper-boat

Of the wrinkled tissue paper

The emblem of the coffee-shop

Gracing its sail.

He smiled at his new masterpiece,

"It's not about this peach colored boat

It's about the lost childhood,

Rains are coming..."

He tried to explain,

Honestly, for once..

They mocked and left.

The paper boat stayed a little longer

On his table and in his mind,

Before it was swept away

In the tide of the nothingness

That filled his days.

A few clouds of memories

Passed over him,

Under the endless blues

Of a sky stretched across the times,

He looked at the marigolds

Their sun-kissed yellow

Like her evening dress,

And his bicycle tripped,

Again in front of that wrought iron gate.

Another sun melted away,

Another unforgiven day dragged its feet

And her giggle still floated in the air.

Sometimes, he talked about

An unforgotten love

A school girl who never grows old

An old rickety bicycle

And streets of a forgotten town.

Sometimes, he looks at them

And a smile shies away

They understand not

What he says.

He smiles, nevertheless,

And the birds stay back with him

Even after it's dark..

A dreamer...

A loner?

Is he?

Thank you Kirti for giving me this muse :)

On A Day Like This

2011-05-28T13:35:00.002+05:30

I have tossed the afternoon sun,

Down from my terrace...

Through the dusty air and city smoke

Somewhere.. i don't care.

I like the evening,

Its grey color and tall shadows..

I like the way it rushes

To its end... in evening trains

And rain-washed streets.

In the little pocket

Of my sweat stained shirt...

Time lies still..

Beating slowly with my heartbeat..

And just as meaningless...

I have peeled the layers of grey

From the aging face of sky

And left an ugly scar

On the naked beauty of moon.

This is my night..

And i own it..

Its every moment

Is held still in my breath

And released with a shy..

The distant Sun conspires..

What do i care?

For the brick red mornings...

The school going kids

And their stolen innocence..

I close my eyes

To the haste on some bus stand

Breakfast news

Crisp white uniforms

And the city clock...

My time sleeps quiet

With my dreams..

And we dream ..

Beyond this tired day.

Silence

2011-04-12T00:29:00.001+05:30

In the deep well of thoughts,

words have dried up somewhere..

I can still stack up sentences

And give you my story..

With a pinch of lie

Some secrets dressed up..

But then i have taken the other way..

To scrap away every little line

From the paper

And make them stand

On that riverside

where i waited for her in my half dreams..

I tried to give words,

a voice, a song

That could light up

The grim darkness of a lonely 2-bhk.

Then i discovered

like the cuckoo in the nest..

This world is not mine..

neither is this my story..

and no, my dreams were too inspired..

I have tried too hard,

Won too easily

And lost so narrowly

in love and life..

on a blank piece of paper

i put my signature..

On the bottom

that's how i like it, absolute silence ..

no prayers, no cries..

no half-lies

Merchant of Dreams

2011-01-27T00:16:00.007+05:30


Photo: courtesy Kirti.

PART 1

It was that time of the day when people came back from offices, tea shops became abuzz with discussions and women rushed back to their kitchens after what had initially started as an afternoon gossip. The hard sun had wilted in its own heat and fallen in the dust which was in the air, on the street and in the silent sobs of one more ordinary day coming to its jinxed end under the scrutiny of large street lamps. In the old park of the neighborhood, last ball of the last cricket match had been bowled; the kids, covered in sweat and mud, though were still debating over something. A group of elderly men was going back to their homes after their evening walk. A young girl on the footsteps of teenage was sitting on an old wooden bench and still blushing about something that happened in school that day. A man, not older than 40 but certainly not too young either, caught their attention. He stood near the entrance of the park, smiling at passers by. There was something ridiculous about him, something that was intriguing and fascinating too... Something other than his dark red jacket with large metallic, golden colored buttons. Something other than his thin and dramatic mustache. It was the serenity in his eyes, the grace with which he held up his hands to greet everyone, the all-knowing smile he flashed.

They waited for him to say something. There was soon a little gathering outside the park. Men and women, young and old, and a few kids looked at him with intrigue. After he was convinced with the size of the audience, he started his speech. His voice was child-like but sounded convincing, "Good evening my beautiful people! I once lived in this very neighborhood when I was a little boy. When the grass of the park was greener and the flowers smelled sweeter, I played here too. You must be curious where I had been all these years.. Why haven't you seen me? In my childhood I was an ordinary boy, like the ones you see everyday on the bus-stops, traffic lights and side-walks. Do you remember their faces? No! And so you have forgotten me too. My name is Salesman. I am here to sell you something."

A man in suit-coat and trousers wanted to turn away and go but he saw that the Salesman was looking straight in his eyes. Instead of going, he asked the Salesman,"What do you want from us?". The Salesman replied with a sigh," I don't want anything. I am here to offer you something. But since my experiences with this world tell me that for something to be worth having, it must cost something to own it so I want to sell you something." A bespectacled young lady in her neatly pressed shirt and trousers interrupted him," Look, we don't want anything and you have no bags or catalogs either...". The Salesman turned back sharply and climbed on a small rock near the park. He raised both his arms and cleared his throat," In the times of insurances and money-back guarantees, all I have to offer you is a dream. A dream that you have lost, a dream that you need. A dream that you have ignored, a dream you have once talked about and cried upon. A dream you can't refuse. Do you want to buy your dream? I am here not for you but for the dream."

To be continued...

...................................................................................................................................
PART 2

An old boy in his twenties sat in the grimmest layer of the darkness and quietly allowed himself to do the unforgivable sin of being weak and cried. Nobody saw him crying but we all knew. He was left stranded in the race of everything. He had been dreaming for a little too long and now he was left in the cold silence of being oh-so-alone with his dreams. He wanted to buy death but he had nothing to buy it with. Life is cheap but death?
He had nothing except a fragile hope in an unvisited corner of his mind. He knew what had to be done. That very day which has been now erased from our memories, he sold the little hope he had and bought a small slice of death.

End of part 2.

.......................................................................................................................................
PART 1 continued...

The crowd looked bemused. A man whose eyes looked as dull as the muddy waters of a drying local river asked the Salesman,"What is the price of my dream? How can I buy it? And how do I know that you aren't fooling me?"
The Salesman, now looking like a monk dressed as clown, closed his eyes and spoke out,"You have to trust me here because I have been in your shoes. I have sold my dreams to buy me tired days and sad evenings like this. I have bought them back when I could, to light up my nights. You have to pay a dear price too." He thought for a second and then paused so as to hold the secret, the price.
The crowd, tired of this game now and reluctant after guessing what the price might be, asked in a hush, "What's the price anyway?" The salesman, now looking like a boy who has just got a new gift, said,"The price is hefty as it should be. You have to give something you have held so close to your heart for all your life. You have to give me your greatest fear....

The crowd dissolved, knowing too well that he was trying to trick them. There had to be some conspiracy in it. It was late too and dinner had to be made, works had to be done. What a waste of their precious time?

But a man stood there, thinking. The same man whose eyes looked as dull as the muddy waters of a drying local river. He asked silently, "How does it work? You are talking as if there is some.....". The Salesman smiled and completed his question,"..... as if there is some MAGIC? " The man nodded his head,"Yes, how do I trust you?" The Salesman said,"There is a Magic. You have been seeing magic all you life but you have never believed it. You have dismissed it as a trick. You have been wrong. You can trust me... For one, the shine in your eyes is back...

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Loner 2

2011-01-03T02:50:00.000+05:30

He was tired

Of unending days of gray.

Smoke-spitting evenings,

And dark silence of nights.

He had once read

A pretty love poem

In a sad, sulking twilight

To lit up its face with a kiss.

He had watched ever since,

The afterglow of his love

Dimming with every stroke of time

He had remained silent,

Trying not to cry.

He was told,

There are things more important

Than love and love poems.

And the sorrow of this twilight.

So he wished every night,

For tomorrow to be a new day.

With pastel hued mornings

And glittering afternoons.

A beginning often marks an end,

The whispering dreams

Of these dear dark nights,

Had to be muted.

So he did,

Silently sucking the life

Out of a burning love

And letting out the tarnished warmth

In little clouds of smoke.

He looked back, for the last time...

As far as he could

And saw nothing.

When they all waved,

With misty eyes,

He knew it was time.

He picked his bag, confused, and left...

The sadness of the end

The joy of a beginning...

He could not feel it

And tried not to pretend..

He was, as always,

A lonely man.

Eraser-dust

2010-12-30T06:20:00.001+05:30

Twinkling stars shined and faded,
And in the moon kissed winter night,
I tried to leave you a note,
All I could manage was "eraser dust"

I looked at the white steam
Rising and fading, from the coffee mug.
The end is near,
The ritual of looking back and saying "goodbye"
Can I skip it?

I promised
"A letter when we part our ways,
I will write to you."
And you had asked,
Your voice soaked in love,
"A poem?"

"Where is the poem?"
A poem for a friend
Who has refused to listen,
To my eyes that hide
Pain in anger.
And a poet who has tried
So hard to remain silent.
That he has forgotten the words.

"You are my poem."
I had said,
I have written you slowly,
By playing stupid tricks to make you smile.
By pretending to be angry
To make you cry.
By being not me,
But better, better than I could ever be.
By trying so hard every time,
For the perfect words.
That you think
I had faked it all along.

You are my poem,
The only brilliant masterpiece
Of a writer of junks, drafts and trash.

My poem has fallen apart,
Word by word,
It has erased itself
And my pain has lingered
In the eraser dust.

"Where is the poem?"
A poem that would make you turn back
And wave at me...
Your eyes that look stranger each day,
Your smile that I keep searching.
And a poem that's missing.
And memories like eraser-dust.

Sometimes, it all seems
Like a dream that ended so soon.
Like none of it happened.
Like you were really a poem
That someone erased.
Took the words from me
and left me a paper
With eraser-dust.

Living In A Dream..

2010-09-11T17:58:00.000+05:30

What would it be like..

To live in a dream?

To walk barefoot

Among shadows

From citrus morning

To smoky dusk...

And to dissolve

At the turn of a day.

No looking back,

No good byes.

To just be

The carefree song

Of a gypsy night.

A browning journal

With no "To do list"

Or "Places you must see".

Just a few scribblings..

Found and lost

Along the way.

What would it be like

To wait on the horizon

In an illusion

A dear lie...

Forever.

And be forgiven.

To slip away unnoticed

Behind the clouds...

No more promises

And all wishes resigned.

(c)Ankur Srivastava

From The Streets of Bihar

2010-06-30T04:06:00.002+05:30

From The Streets of Bihar

The streets of Bihar
Are the face of an abstract painting,
Sad.
The colors of history,
It seems,
Someone has washed away.
Or scrapped with fingernails.

A river has changed its color,
And the sky here is not blue
Anymore.
Tired sky and forgotten rivers.

The morning still basks
In an orange glow
Of a lazy suburban Sun
That fades
In the echoes of night,
Muffled screams.
The day is lost
Pretending deaf.

Fantasy poetry of
Unseen revolutions
Have often knocked
The doors of destiny,
In sweaty envelopes,
To be rewritten in blood…

But eyes have failed
To tell impoverished, meager heroes
From shameless, naked demons.
Reality, sadly,
Is a little gray,
Half lie.

I have often seen
A volcano
Walking on the streets,
Threatening to erupt
On evenings of nothingness.
Somehow,
It never does,
As the radio continues
To ramble shamelessly.

Streets of Bihar still believe
In prayers
With eyes closed.
And dream
Ignorant of a fear
That sits all night
By the bedside.

Streets of Bihar
Have lost their feet
In the race.
They are forgotten leaves
Of autumn.

They are the eyes
Of a frightened child
Who is learning to
Drag his feet
To unwelcome tomorrows.
They just stare.
Mute,
Like the volcano
That has remained quiet.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Timeless Love

2010-06-27T05:11:00.001+05:30

Timeless Love

I am quiet.
My mouth is filled
With her warm breath,
And a storm
Of passion.

She whispers in my ears,
A fantasy
Never heard before...
"Love"!

Love?
Indeed...
I smile foolishly.
She covers my eyes
With her lashes.
I dream.

Her voice fills
The air around me.
Like the scent
Of her breath.
She says
"Promise."

My heart beats
Are faint and slow.
My world sways
In the gentle breeze
With thousands of butterflies
Of unseen colors.

I promise
To hold her close.
And she is weightless
In my arms,
In my love.

Once,
I slept with her
Under an undressed moon.

Her promise,
"Always or never?"

I wake up,
Every single morning,
In her olive eyes,
An eternal lover.

Timeless.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Rain Poem

2010-06-21T12:23:00.006+05:30

It rained yesterday,

After an unending wait

Of summers

Stretched so long.

And I sat

By the window,

To sketch

Each falling drop

The way the earth smiled

Teased by the rains.

Lines that I could read

In the long summer nights

When we sat by our windows

And prayed for rains again.

This evening,

I read the Rain poem,

But the words had been
Washed away,

The lines had turned

Brown again.

There is no poetry in rain,
These days.

Poems are not written...

On little green twigs

That grow in my garden and die

So soon.

About naked children

Running in streets

With joy

Soon to be lost.

Or about maple leaves floating

In pools of muddy water

On broken roads.

There is a woman

On the roadside.

Her skin, brown,

And hair,streaked with dust;

Her eyes are deep

Pits of emptiness.

Her lips are dry

Parched with thirst.

Her husband doesn't speak

These days.

He did smile when it had rained

For a moment,

And then cried

For some nights,

Turned quiet forever.

She sighs and looks

Towards the empty paddy fields.

The roof of her home

Leaks in the rains.

But she cares not.

If only the paddy grows

This year.

Or else?

There is no poetry in rain,

These days.

The woman told me,

"The rains were too little".

It will rain again

I smiled...

"Too late, may be!"

She sighed.

Poems are not written

Sitting by the window

Every time rain tickles

The sad face of earth.

Poems now lies silent,

And brown

Like the earth

After the rain has flirted

And gone back.

When the children

Try to sleep,

Hungry.

And their eyes are wet

And shallow

Faces brown
Like pools of muddy water

On broken roads.

Poetry tosses and turns

In bed at nights.

It's verses

Are wet with sweat

Mixed with blood.

And lips are sealed

Forever.

Words!

2010-06-06T08:17:00.001+05:30

To mend that imperfect line,

I look for words again,

A lost poet tries hard,

To dip his love in sea of pain.

If words ever mattered,

I would have found a way,

You walk over the tottered pages,

Where my afraid dreams lay.

My heart beats in stern silence,

I care not for the blessed rhyme,

I have lost my song,

In the noise of indifferent time.

I still love for the sake of love,

And love talks in broken sighs,

Have you noticed the blood,

In my two smiling eyes.

Desperate to lose it all,

I walk to the edge of dark,

I have hoped long to heal,

My wounds remain open and stark.

To mend that imperfct line,

I look for words again,

Why write a poem for you,

Words are destined to go in vain.

(c)Ankur Shrivastava

6 word stories

2010-06-03T13:52:00.002+05:30

Dreams floated in her eyes, misty.

Bubbles of hope..
grow..

shatter!
.
.
.
Survive...

My jeans, once blue,
faded...
Me?

A candle melts before its time.

Love invites, passion lures... night surrenders!

Dream inspires, hope survives...

Destiny cheats!

7.
A small-town street-fighter with royal blood.

Friendship

2010-06-02T11:11:00.002+05:30

Friendship

I wonder...
When did it start,
And how
Boundaries merged.

I was a liar,
But not to you.
You were shy
But not to me.
You called me a flirt,
Yet, trusted like a child.

Did we begin
With the first "hello"
Or,
only after the last "bye"?

I look back
For the moment...
When I found you
In me.

Was it..
When we cried together?
Our stolen giggles?
Or your comforting words?

Why do you trust me?
When did I decide,
To stay by your side,
No matter what?

I try to trace the roots
Of this wonderful friendship
But it goes deeper
Than my soul can reach.

We may be miles away,
But from my evenings
A little lane
Reaches your window.
I know
You are smiling now.
"Do you think
I am flirting?"

At your little door,
This envelope comes
Kissed with love,
From me.

So many things
I still don't know.

But...

When I look back,
I see you!

When I look ahead,
I find you!

(c) Ankur Srivastava

(written 3/6/07
revised: today :)

I Sold the Twilight

2010-06-01T11:54:00.007+05:30

I Sold the Twilight

The day ended
Quietly
A crimson love
Gave in.
Tarnished...
In twilight.

And birds hurried
Back to their homes.
The sky is not theirs,
Not in this twilight.

Memories
Of a lonely boy
Sulking,
Hiding..
In dark.
The boy was lost,
Forever,
In a dusky twilight.

Your sad face
Smiled
In the afterglow
Of the evening
I kissed your lips.
With your kohl
Mixed in our tears,
I painted a twilight.

A cup of tea
By the sunset.
The long road
Back home.
And our sweet nothings.
After a tired day.
We wait for the twilight.

I ran once again,
Barefoot,
Forwards and backwards
Across an endless sea
Of hope.
And you waited
By the lighthouse...
In the twilight of love.

But...

I sold the twilight.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Dream

2010-05-26T06:21:00.006+05:30

Dream...

Through the open window beside my bed, pain comes in quietly on measured steps in moonlight. It touches me in my slumber and my heart is lost in a dream; a dream I have seen many times and have often forgotten in the morning. Rightly so, because the mornings never had a clue. Only the nights had seen me pacing on the terrace of my hostel and stealing a glance at her every time she buried her face in the book, every time her dark tresses fell over her face, and looking away just as she looked up and tucked them back cutely behind her ears.

My student days in New Delhi showed me a view of life that I had never seen in my home town; the way life ran with frenetic speed on the smoothest and busiest roads and I waited endlessly for it under the shed on the sidewalk. I remember losing my footing in the crowd and the fear in my heart that I will be run over. I remember coming back to my cheap, lonely room. I kept tuning and retuning to my favorite radio stations so as to find a familiar voice, a familiar name that I could listen to every day, even if only on a radio. Those were not the days for a romantic dream. And then I found her in the quiet and dusky subway under this road on which life ran. I walked behind her slowly with unhurried steps in my slumber and I lost her just as I reached the other side of the road.

She lived in one of the flats in the building opposite to my hostel. She was perhaps a little older than me. I first saw her when I had come to my terrace in the night to escape the mugginess of my claustrophobic room. She was studying with her friend. In a few days, I discovered she used to study there every night until dawn. I knew her name one day as one of her friends called out for her, "Anjali". I gave the name to my nights, "Anjali". I never stared or smiled at her. I just used to steal a discreet glance every now and then. Her face might not have been the prettiest, but her eyes had a calmness that gently stroked my heart into a sweet rhythm. She smiled rarely but whenever she did, time used to freeze around her; and in that moment when time remained blind I used to smile too, cheating all my pains and fears. I never felt any need to talk to her.

One night, she acknowledged my presence. While I was busy listening to the radio, I felt her gaze tenderly roam around me before settling on my face with love. I turned slowly and for the tiniest fraction of time, our eyes met and shied away leaving a ruby bliss on her pale cheeks and a sweet pain in me. Since that moment, love paced restlessly on that terrace every night, hand in hand with me, aching for her gaze to stretch its tender fingers again. But the distance that separated her world and mine, the silence that floated in the breeze that come to me from her terrace remained. I never tried to transcend it. I let the dream remain a dream for it was so perfect.

Like a day always comes when a little paper boat delightfully floating in muddy pools of sweet rain water has to be lost, that day also came. It was evening and as if in harmony with the moment, the sun was melting into darkness, in the background. She stood on the terrace and looked around, her hands rested on the railings. Her eyes traveled the emptiness of an infinite sky that was losing itself in the arms of dusk. Then she looked at me, I could not have missed as she blinked, a window of dreams opened and closed in her eyes, her lips twitched a little, trembled and love glittered brightly in my faint smile. Perhaps, the longing of the moment could have transformed itself into a few sweet words by its own, if that moment would have lingered a little longer. But... her friend called for her, "Anjali, the taxi is waiting." She went away, forever into the memory lane and she left her address somewhere that could only be reached in my dreams.

Yesterday, those dreams, those nights, the love and the longing broke away the shackles of years and stormed into my office in broad day light. She was sitting across my desk. Her hair were now pulled back and not a single strand fell over her face. Her eyes were a little nervous. I might not have recognized her at all but her old, familiar face smiled at me from her job application that was in my hand. And the first column read the name I had given to my nights, "Anjali". I can't recall how the interview went, my mind only remembers the last question that I put across her nervously, "Do you remember me?". And I continued without waiting for her answer, nervous, without even trying to hide it,"I lived in that hostel, opposite to your apartment in Delhi, 2004?" She shrugged and then smiled,"Ah...hmmm..yes sir, I do. I was doing my masters there.....". As she continued ahead about Delhi and her course, my eyes looked in her eyes, searching. I don't remember what happened next....

Those eyes were stranger's.

I wake up, jolted, tonight, just as I see her dream again. I try to remember where did it go so wrong.

The dream was so perfect!

(c) Ankur Srivastava

I Am a Generation!

2010-05-24T23:56:00.009+05:30

I Am a Generation!

Through my eyes,
History changes and un-changes
As in the eyes
That saw it before mine.

And when I look back,
In the pages of history
Will I ponder,

"Who am I?"

I am the one
In the corner of a classroom
Writing poems
On the back of an engineering book.
Half baked poems and
Half learned lessons.

I am the one who
turned his back on temples.
Instead,
I sit on noisy sidewalks
Sipping bitter tea
In plastic cups
And contemplate and reflect
Search for my soul.
In the bitterness.

I often cut my hair,
And color it
In accordance
With "post-modern art"
I am the face on the banners
Who has changed his name
To have some fame.

I forever join in the debate
On the soul of Gandhi
And sometimes,
The poetry of Tagore
The Nehru and the Ambedkar.
I am often caught,
On both sides of debate.

My mind ponders
On why Sukhi died.
(Sherman In RDB)
Patriotism or friendship?
Or was he afraid
Of the meaninglessness of it all
And of his existence.

I wear a secular mask
And I cried
And cheered a certain Mr. Khan
As he walked
To break the greatest boundaries
Of my times.(yes, perhaps.)
And beyond.

But I didn't walk
With Mr. Khan.
I wasn't stupid!

I am the one
Who applauded
A Slumdog Millionaire
As he charmed and amused.
I also slapped him in face,
For the other Slum-dogs
Who were still slum-dogs,
With empathetic heart
And well fed stomach!

All the while,
While, I split my pocket-money
Between petrol and pizza,
I never realized
I am not me.

I am a generation.

I wonder
What will I take to my grave...
A generation that had ambitions
Before it could dream!

A generation that put the blame
On the generations before,
And slipped into the grave.
With eyes shut.

I am scared
How history will be seen,
Through my eyes.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

( For those who don't know about Sukhi and Mr. Khan.

Sukhi
Sukhi is a character played by Sherman Joshi in a Hindi movie, "Rang De Basanti". He reluctantly chooses to help his friends in killing the corrupt Defense Minister of India who was largely responsible for the death of their friend, the pilot who died in a crash of one of the MIG planes due to technical problems in the plane.
He then reluctantly goes with his friend to confess before the whole nation through radio and is killed by the forces. Through all this, he remains scared and confused and gathers some strength only when the end is near.

Khan

Mr. Khan is played by Shah Rukh Khan in "My name is Khan". Rizvan Khan is an honorable Muslim man from India, living with Asperger's Syndrome in US. When his son is killed by people due to the hatred against Muslims post 9/11, Khan selflessly embarks on a powerful journey through a contemporary America. He innocently becomes that most unlikely act of defiance, one of peace and compassion. In the name of the woman he loves, he wants to meet the president of USA just to tell him that, "My name is Khan, and I am not a terrorist." )

A Poet Died

2010-05-23T03:31:00.005+05:30

A Poet Died

"Once upon a time",
On an empty street,
Poetry touched him.
And ever since,
He groped
In emptiness.

He used to sit by the window
In afternoons
His hands shivered in cold.
The sun had no warmth
Just a glowing dot
Like the tip of a cigarette.

Love visited often
The address written
On pale envelopes.
But no flowers ever blossomed,
Poems grew
Like weeds.

He had little ladders
He kept them between the lines
To reach one's heart.
And he wrote with his gift
Many a letters
That ended in trash.

On a sad evening, yesterday,

He stole a poem

From his soul

And wrote it on the sky.

Dark!

A candle flickered,

Dim...

And melted

Before its time.

Yesterday,
He read the epilogue
All to himself,
On the same old street
He sat and cried.

Yesterday,
Was just another day,
For, no one noticed it;
Not even the man
Sitting beside him.
Yesterday,
A poet died.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Love and Longing

2010-05-19T03:48:00.015+05:30

Love and Longing

For all the sweetness of love,
And uncountable kisses;
There shall always be
On the tip of tongue
A salty drop of tear,
A thirst unquenchable.

I wait for you

Dressed in soft, white sand;
A little of my shore
Is eaten away every day.
Such is the hunger of love.

A glorious moon conspires.
Every night,
You leap in passion
To touch the moon.
I wait for you
Every night
In envy and love.

You fall in my arms,

And I hold you.
I am your bottom, ain't I?
You dream of the moon,
In my arms.

Tides of pain rise and fall.

You, playful and young,
I, Drowned in your pain.
Longing for you
To turn back.
Hoping...
You wont turn away.

A moment...
Still, in time.

Framed, in boundless space.
We stand together
In the infinite sea
Of love, longing and passion.
At the edge of the world.

(c) Ankur Srivastava

Diamonds

2010-05-17T00:19:00.002+05:30

Diamonds,
You look through the glass,
Your eyes transfixed.

A fleeting glance at me,
Through the corner of your eyes,
I manage a smile.

Your eyes,
Sparkle for a moment.
And turn dull,
Diamonds...
Vanish.

"Why diamonds?"
I hold your hand,
You rub your fingers.
"Because diamonds are forever!"

Tonight,
I hold a pen and my heart,
I cut, shape and polish,
And love feels,
Every stroke of my pen.

The stars sigh,
I carve your face.
Eyes gleaming
A luminous smile.

Diamonds?
I have no clue.

I kiss your fingers,
Soft and tender.
You open your eyes,

Smile.

Diamonds...
I keep them forever.

Ankur Srivastava

Knock!

2010-05-14T21:04:00.001+05:30

Wrapped in a silk robe
Of shining darkness,
She knocks at your door.

Her fancy bag promises
Rainbow gifts from a distant world,
But you know
Those are dreams from the past.

If you let her in,
The night will simmer
In her stories of dreams.
And its lurid layers
Will melt drop by drop.

Her mysterious tone
Will rise and fall,
You will ache
To catch a glimpse of her face.

Then she will be gone,
A lipstick stained wineglass,
A sweet surreal scent
Left to linger in the room.

So, you pretend deaf,
Behind bolted door.
Her knock; light and faint,
Dissolving in familiar noises.

But,
Can you stop
From looking out of the window
When those dreams
Run homeless in the streets?

She is knocking!

(c)Ankur Srivastava

Just Before I Am Lost

2010-05-13T21:36:00.004+05:30

Just before I am lost,

I want to write a love poem.

The color of love stolen,

Tears dripping,

And a night lit up

By silver moon of memories.

The journey of love,

From being born in tears,

To being lost in smiles,

Finding its way in silence,

And choking

Under the weight of promises.

I am here tonight to say it all,

Things that were not meant to be.

Love made it happen,

Our little sweet miracles,

That have somehow stopped.

It's difficult to draw boundaries,

When you are too close;

So many things go wrong,

When you are lost.

I don't beg for tomorrows,

I would rather buy a yesterday.

Love somehow holds it all intact,

But tonight love is lost,

It has fled, defeated...

Without a message.

We are blinded,

Left to wander, in the sea of thoughts.

A thousand unknown reasons,

For the death of every star,

A hundred questions...

Why our miracles have stopped.

Just before I am lost,

I want to write a love poem.

(c)Ankur Srivastava

Canvas

2010-05-08T04:09:00.013+05:30

Slowly, Suvesh gets up from his bed and stealthily walks out of the room. The clock strikes 3 in the morning, it’s still dark. He walks out to breathe in the open air. He shuts his eyes for a moment and his entire life flashes before him. It was not meant to be like this, he shakes his head but there is no escape from that terrible feeling.

Reema pretends to sleep, like every night. She feels unnerved to ask him any questions now. It’s not that things were any better before but now the damage seems to be irreparable. She lets out a heavy sigh as she watches her husband go for his daily walk… in the middle of the night! She feels she is quietly letting him slip into the dark but she can’t help it, can she?

Suvesh left college with just one dream, the only dream he saw ever since he first held a pencil- to leave an impression on the beautiful white canvas of life. It has been a year since his last painting was rejected by the galleries. He remembers when his first painting was displayed, nine years ago when he was 22. It had gone unsold, like his next seven paintings. He sees the portrait of a sad and ugly painter who lived in the illusion of a dream. Terrified, he scraps off this image and tries to splash some new colors but colors are fading now. They can no longer hide the face of the ugly painter.

He still paints, for a living, making posters for a local theater. Most of the times, he is asked to draw the same images, a tempestuous girl with playful eyes. Sometimes, he mixes a little pain with the colors as he paints the curve of her smile. He hides a little anger at the corner of her lips. Often he draws thin lines of worry on her forehead or merges her blush with a light of hope. He chuckles at the fact that no one has noticed, and you can feel the heart breaking pain in the humor. (No one has noticed!)

Reema tries to close her eyes… to life and Suvesh… to sleep. But sleep has evaded her … like smiles and joy… and love? She decides to follow him, instinctively or out of love, she knows she has to. She had known it that day, when she left his father's home to be with him. He wasn’t ready to let her come with him but she had sneaked into his life. And today she has to follow him again.

Reema walks out of the door into the sidewalk but Suvesh is no where. “How far could he have gone?” Indeed, how far could he go? She sees a dim light coming from the guard room. It is strange as there has never been a guard for the apartment. She peeps through the tiny gap between the doors.

Suvesh is standing in front of a huge canvas. The sky is murky. Its darkness is terrifying; layers of black merge into each other and dry like a clot. Shades of gray hint a storm that had died in its stride. Stars have lost their shine; they remain helplessly suspended in the mist; hanged in the darkness. Moon is alone, robbed off its beauty. Its flaws are obvious and grim. Its sadness is like the pain of a yesteryear's heart-throb who is now old, ugly and undesirable. The earth is a huge mass of ice; cold and frozen. Still, a little green twig has grown, staunchly, from its infertile womb. It's fragile but unperturbed by the torture it has undergone, the effort it has made to break the layers of silence and coldness. It wears the green of the brightest dreams, ecstatic joys and undying hopes. It is so unreal and yet when you look at it, you feel that it is meant to be. The painting is a mosaic of sorrow and hope.

Unaware of Reema’s presence, Suvesh tries bit by bit to perfect the painting, adding colors, layers by layer. His brush strokes not only the canvas but also his heart; soothes and heals it. His heart and soul are, for a moment, in harmony with the freshness of the green twig.

The painting isn’t an expression of the painter; it is his escape from everything he has been.

Reema smiles.

BEAST

2010-05-01T16:49:00.006+05:30

Beast
The rusty shackles of last night's dreams
Melted away in the flaring sun.
In a never ending dusty afternoon,
He woke up, almost reborn...

Some remembered him,
"Ah! the boy with the sad smile."
Others believed,
He had risen from the grave.

For, his face was blank...
A smile hauntingly pasted.
He hummed a strange tune,
Staring into nothingness.

He was never seen before,
Or perhaps went unnoticed.
But then he set his thumping feet
On the empty streets
And dust kicked off.

As the Sun bowed to his feet,
Looking up at the heavens,
He rose a toast,
To the mourning for strangled dreams.

He seemed sad and yet so strong,
Grief embarrassed;
And guilt was set free
Naked, in the chilly evening breeze.

The innocence of a full moon,
Was put aside with disdain.
He played with the shadows of night.

And painted the dark
On his face.
Mask of sanity scrapped.

He walked the road,
The beast he always was.

(c)Ankur Srivastava

Loner

2010-04-29T22:04:00.012+05:30

I walk alone,

From the forest of dreams,

A tiny wish plucked away..

I feel the wind of desire,

Brushing my hair.

And I hold my breath.

A stare at the sun,

I let it look down at me..

Proud of its light;

Oh dear, beast of light!

However,

you may look down at me,

I will rise again tomorrow,

To stare at you.

My blood has lost its red,

It's now black and white,

Grey,

The color of my soul.

My smile,

a twisted lip on frozen face.

And my eyes will show nothing,

Just emptiness,

So deep,

You wont dare to reach.

I am here all by myself,

Dont know,

Where I will end up,

I run against destiny,

From the forest of dreams.

A solitary traveler,

Lunatic,

Is on the hunt,

Smelling tears,

I love the pain...

Anybody around?

To reach for me?

'Just back off and stay away! '

Eternal Love

2010-04-28T14:01:00.004+05:30

These tears have a story to tell,
I have kept them in your heart,
To cry with my pain,
As we turn around this corner,
To take different roads.

It’s important to stay apart,
So as to miss each other,
And keep loving long after,
The secret of love is known.

This evening walk is a pensive sigh,
From the lips of a tired day.
Its warmth would be lost
In the cold night of broken stars.

I will come in the morning again,
With the dew on green grass,
Whenever your tears will fall,
I will hold your hands again.

Those would be little moments,
Little verses I will read to you,
Little mornings spent together
For that we shall live forever.

(c)Ankur Shrivastava

Wrong Dream!

2010-04-24T22:32:00.005+05:30

Have you ever dreamt?
Tender and misty,
Unknowingly...
Without calculation,
And felt it hit you
In the chest.

A heavy heart,
A heavy sigh...
Have you searched
For those wishing wells
From fairy tales...

I have...
And so I stand on the shore,
Waves come, tides rise and fall,
No clue of the missing pearls
From my eys.

After every triumph
Have you known...
The glory is shortlived
The admiration false.

I have...
And so I stand
On the losing side.
Waiting for time to deliver
That knockout punch.

And when I close my eyes forever,
I will dream one last time,
My dear dream
That went wrong.

(c)Ankur Shrivastava

“GOOD MORNING!”

2010-04-23T01:24:00.004+05:30

8 AM,

Something is buzzing in my head,
I fly off the cliff in my dream…
Oops! I trip from my bed,
Bang! On the cold floor.
Alarm clock screeching.
Ah! Not today.

8:30,

I zoom on my bike,
Engine cold, fuel low,
False gear and cranky brakes
Broken headlight, shirt soiled
Heavy fine, angry cops.
Ah! Not today.

9 AM,

Slowly I walk to bus stop,
And there she goes
In her flashy car.
And is there a guy with her?
Holding her just the way I ache to.
Ah! Not today.

9:30,

I reach the college gate,
Alas! The lifts are jammed,
I take the stairs for 7th floor.
Hurried feet miss a step,
Pangs in back and a screaming gut.
Ah! Not today.

9:50,

Guys laugh and girls giggle,
I am one stupid joke,
Professor asks for apology,
I open my bag and reach for pen
And see what comes out, a cigarette!!!
Ah! Not today.

10:30,

Time means little now,
Kicked out of the class
I head for an expensive breakfast.
Coffee and dessert with chocolate sauce.
God! Where was it that my wallet fell?
Ah! Not today.

11 AM,

The restaurant owner is a burly man,
He bullies me to do the dishes
To pay for the breakfast bill,
I settle on “waiter stuff” instead.
And in comes she, with her friends.
Ah! Not today!

Ankur Srivastava(c)

Where is the poem?

2010-04-22T23:55:00.005+05:30

"Where is the poem?”
You asked. Your eyes, still so beautiful,
If eyes can be painted in words,
Their color, and sheen,
And the way kohl smudges after a tired day.
And the pain and silent tear
That never falls.

I told you not to talk of poems,
For, poems make us sad,
Rather look out of the window
The rain is about to fall.
The drops are sweet like teenage love,
Oh teenage love! Why doesn’t it last?

May be I will write a poem again,
A poem that won’t make us sad,
Like the flowers in the vase,
Oh! Don’t they look real?
And yet they will never die.

A poem with a smiling face,
Like your photograph in living room,
That hasn’t aged, not at all.
But, then I want the lines of your face,
That remind me how you added a little love
To the everyday pains of my life.

I can’t write a poem.
But may be someday,
I will steal one,
From the way your hair hides your face
When you are asleep.

You can find it in your lazy yawn,
I will read to you
In a sweet morning kiss.

Ankur Srivastava(c)

Poem

2009-03-04T21:05:00.010+05:30

Colors
That show...
In the illuminated darkness
Of a nostalgic dream.

Words
That say...
In the most cherished letter
Never meant to be.

Voids
That remain...
After a beautiful reunion
Of dearest childhood friends.

Memories
That linger...
In the bitter sweet nights
Of an insomniac traveler.

Poems
That hide...
In a tottered page
Of agonizing ignominy.

Songs
That echo...
In silent journey
Of dream and reality.

Life
That sleeps...
On the sidewalks
Of time running away.

(c)Ankur

You and I

2009-03-04T21:01:00.003+05:30

I have known you,
Like dreams, like angels,
Unreal, fantasy...
And you call me.

I reach for you,
With the moonlight at your window.
I hide in your eyelashes.
Open your eyes
Let the light come in my world.

For ages, centuries, eons...
I survived
Tucked in the curls of your hair
Falling over your face.

I breathe slow,
In the soft rhythm of your breath.
Let me touch your lips
Like nascent dew on petals
I want to melt away.

My little fingers
Tracing destiny on your palm
I write in the language unknown
My destiny with yours.

I write this poem
In your words,
I speak as you,
My voice merging with yours
And fading in the echo.

My soul is lost
In the halo of your being
I am but you.

Hell

2009-03-04T20:49:00.004+05:30

My life has a little opening,
That leads straight to hell...
I shut my eyes
To save from nightmares,
To stop peeping through that crack.
This is how I dream.

I have seen ghosts,
With wide awake eyes,
Their eyes, faces and shadows
Like you and me...
But I never know
If one walked right into my life...
Into me?

Often I think
When did this crack first appear?
I have forgotten for so many days
I have lived at this doorstep of hell.
May be...It was always there.

And yet there was a time,
Of angels and lullabyes
Of true promises
And pristine love...
Those were the days
I never looked at that opening.

Last many nights
I feel this urge
To walk behind that crack
And vanish into the hell
That has slowly crept into my life...
Through that opening.

Talk

2008-02-16T12:43:00.008+05:30

Smile,
Broken on the edge.
It leaves bitterness...
Sometimes chokes the gut,
When forced too hard.

Whisper,
It would remain unheard,
Even when my lips meet yours.
It will die in ignominy,
Even after speaking the truth.

Screams,
Mistaken you are my love,
For, I am yet to scream,
Not the noise
That drums in my heart.
Neither the pain
That is hot in my breath.
It's yet to come.

Silence,
It used to be the eternal bliss,
Now,A mere lack of words,
Sometimes,
lack of feelings
And often, the death of an innocent wish

Count!

2007-09-25T15:47:00.003+05:30

Pendulum of time,
Weighed by memories,
Still swings
From heaven to hell.
And I count....

The moments pass by,
The sandclock races,
To empty it all.
Sands of dream,
Will they hold back,
I count each fleeting second.

Cityclock stuck midnight,
A lunatic traveler
Waits for the last coffee.
And streets will go to bed,
He wont,He has to count...
The cups of coffees gone cold.

As the rain pours down,
I hide in little hut,
By my window I count...
The paperboats lost in drains.

Each day, each moment
A thousand lies,
Broken dreams,
Prayers never heard
And undying hope...
I count them all.

Forgotten

2007-09-25T15:42:00.002+05:30

He hangs around the same river,
Still tosses a pebble,
And looks for the ripples,

Now they die rather quickly.

He has always been a loner,
And the river was a friend,
But rivers have a habbit,
Of moving on and on,

He has been left behind.

He wont take the bridge,
He loves his side of the river,
They call him from there,

And he calls the river.

There is a twist in the way of river,
That lives a twisted trail,
It forms a knot,

He is unable to dissolve.

He stares at the river,
Indifferent mass of water,
That has wickedly changed its color,

No longer transparent.

As the sun kisses the sky,
He wakes up again,
He turns to the river
To see his forgotten face,
But river wears a bloody red today,
And his reflection is lost.

The agony of being forgotten.

Life Is Beautiful(Play)

2007-09-18T15:50:00.001+05:30

Characters:

1. Rahul-An 18 year old student.
2.Doctor

SCENE 1

Rahul is sitting in his gloomy room, after failing his board exams.

He is depressed and sad.

Rahul(to himself): " God! I knew this will happen, but I never really cared and now I stand a perfect loser who can neither move ahead nor run back. Before they all taunt me, and ask the questions I can never answer, I should end this all. No! I dont want to face the world, I can't. It has been enough... I want to die."

He takes a knife and tries to cut his wrists, but he can't gather the guts to do so. He looks frustrated and angry with himself. He takes out some poison and swallows.

SCENE 2

Rahul wakes up in a hospital room with the doctor smiling to him.

Doctor: How are you now young man?

Rahul: Oh! Why the hell did you save me? I just want to die, I will do it again. I don't wanna live.

Doctor: Dear, I am sorry but I havent really saved you. The poison has spread in your systems, you only have two more days left with you. Because you attempted suicide, you are not allowed to go anywhere. You have to sit in this room only.

Rahul: Oh! In this depressing room; well, it hardly matters... Life is depressing anyway. But what will I do all the time?

Doctor: Here is a little sketchboard for you, and this pencil... Draw all that you want to... All that you like..

Rahul(irritated): Uff! but there is nothing here to draw... thiese stupid furnitures and colorless walls... do u think i am a three year old and i will do whatever nonesense you tell me to..

Doctor:Listen.. Just close your eyes, dream and then draw what you see...

Scene 3:

Rahul draws a tearful eye, birds, flowers, mountains, clouds and sun, friends, a girl, a little house, and a man and a woman.

Doctor walks in.

Doctor: Lets see what all have you painted...

Rahul: When I first closed my eyes, I could see nothing but darkness all around... And I wanted to cry... When I was a child, I could cry everytime I felt hurt, but now... Now, a voice in me just keeps saying" Be a man, dont cry.. Dont let the tears fall!" But can you really hide pain? I sometimes want to lose myself and cry like a child. Yesterday I cried a lot..

Doctor: And then you have drawn, trees, and mountains, flowers and birds..strange!!!

Rahul: I dont like this room; I saw a dream of a perfect day... And I was sitting under a tree in warm sun, mountains all around. And there were flowers, not like this gloomy room... I wanted to be bird and escape through the windows... I guess i need a vacation but now, I am gonna die so doesnt really matters.(he says dreaming)

Doctor(looking at the picture): And who are they? Your friends?

Rahul(beaming): How did you guess? My frenz, we really rocked together. Others may call us punks or whatever but we really enjoyed the times we spent together. We have always stood for each other... Do you have friends, doctor?

Doctor: Hmm, but not so many.. and not so good! My friends are busy and I guess they have forgotten me... You are lucky!

Rahul: Yes, I am.

Doctor(teasingly): And who is the lady in picture...?

Rahul: Ah, no one.... (blushing) She is my neighbour, I like her but i cud never manage the guts to talk to her... Every time I walk up to her, I just feel this sweet vacuum inside and I am left dumb.. You cant understand this, no one does.. But I hope she understands some day...

Doctor: This is your home, isnt it? And...

Rahul(sad again): And they are my parents.. They wanted me to be good and successful, but see.. I am such a rotten egg. I wish I could meet them once, but I dont have the time... I cant even call my them... What will I say? I am good for nothing, but atleast I could have loved them for the rest of their life... I could have held their hands when they grow old... Suddenly, I dont want to die... I want to live... For all these people and for me... But nothing can happen...

Doctor(smiling again): Well, youngman! you can surely live... you are not gonna die;
You once closed your eyes and dreamed; now you have to open your eyes and live your dreams.. It' your live, follow all your dreams...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
copyright(c) Ankur

Drunk!!!

2007-08-30T20:13:00.005+05:30

An open bottle of wine,
And ecstasy flows,
And shines,
Falls,
Broken to drops,
Lingers...

In a lonely room,
Lit by memories,
Of broken promises.

The ghosts hide,
In closets locked,
Never to be opened.

The world peeps,
Through cracks,
And I dont hide my face,
I smile,
Shameless.
Alcohol sustains.

Euphoria survives,
In fits and starts.

An icey cold edge,
Of devil's sword,
Comes from the lies lived.

I whisper goodbye,
Before the madness ends.

Copyright(c)Ankur Shrivastava

Home

2007-08-30T20:10:00.001+05:30

Their is a place,
Where days are painted in bliss,
And laughters ring,
Of trivial chats, comforting words.
It's called home.

If you look back you can see,
Your childish wish,
Still shimmering in warm nights.
A jerk of heart and tears rolling
On dusty evenings.

Where words are true,
And expressions pure,
Where prayers spell of faith...
And promises are kept.
Such a place is still there,
It's called home.

I once chased the questions,
Of curious mind.
My wish to fly,
I wanted to explore
The greens, the browns, the blue.

Now, I seek answers,
For a restless soul.
I have sold my wings,
And got my little slippers,
I am running away,
Running back,
I am running home.

copyright(c) Ankur Shrivastava

Be Delicate, My Love!

2007-08-06T19:07:00.003+05:30

Be delicate, my love!
When you wake me up,
From my dreams.

And save me,
From the harsh sunlight,
Tuck me safely,
In your dreamy eyes.

Be delicate my love,
When you wake me up.
A dreamer I have always been,
And dont tell me please,
That I am a man of empty dreams.

We walk together,
Through this hollow tunnel,
For the sweet lights,
Of mornings we have dreamt for.

At the end of this tunnel,
Grant me one more night.
Where dreams breathes quiet,
And moon smiles,
Silver white.

Let me steal a dream,
From this fading dark.
My heart has lost its rhyme,
Kiss me one last time,
Before I wake up to find,
The dreams are all gone...

Be delicate, my love!
When you wake me up.

Where Am I?

2007-06-03T01:49:00.002+05:30

Yesterday,
I was there,
And today,
Where am I?

There is a trench,
A pitfall, a valley
Between yesterday and today,
And perhaps I lie there
In that hole.

I recall each morning,
"Cellphone, wallet, files"
And today I checked,
"Me?"
I was missing.

Where am I?
Where the sky bends down,
To kiss the earth,
A lie as naked as truth...

Where the Sun hides,
In the blue waters,
After a tiring day,
Another lie...
I lie somewhere there,
Oh, do I really exist.

Yes, I do,
In mirages and shadows,
And in the Echoes.
Or,am I lost
In that trench
Between yesterday and today?

Careless

2007-06-03T01:44:00.002+05:30

"Careless"
They have named me.
And I don't really care.
Are they right?
I am not wrong, I know.

I walk on the streets
At my own pace.
No hurry to reach home.
Who is waiting there for me?

I dream, quietly,
And I let them remain dreams.

Sometimes,
I think of my old school bag,
To put all my dreams in it,
And throw it away.

I haven't reached home yet,
And I don't feel like walikng,
I want to sleep.

Where?
Where the dreams lie.
On orphaned footpath,
In bloomin buds,
Bellow beckoning moon,
On gold beaches,
On blue silver waves in sea.

Am I careless?
Ask them.
They care, not me.

And when I die,
Tell them to inscribe,
On my grave-
"NEVER TRY".

Wont Kiss Your Lips Tonight.

2007-05-28T05:31:00.001+05:30

Beauty, perfect!
I name it, "You".

Sitting with your eyes closed,
Poised to be loved,
Like a little child.
On this wooden bench,
In this gulmohar grove.
Divine, between ordinary.

I wont kiss your lips tonight,
Not so soon,
Not before I play for a while.

Kissing your forehead,
Is my destiny written there?
It must be wonderful then,
I should care not
For tomorrows stacked up.
Let me play tonight!

I kiss your eyelashes,
To know the crimson dreams,
That lie within.
Your eyes still closed,
Lips anticipating,
Trembling;
I love them.

I wont kiss your lips tonight,
Not so soon,
Not before I play for a while.

Naughty,I confess I am.
Heartless,
Oh! don't call me that.

Now, I can feel your every breath,
Still a whisker apart,
I love it when you give up.
Your eyes open slowly,
Beads of tears,
Kissed away with care.
Complaints piercing in my eyes.
My little child.

No, not yet!
Not until you surrender
In my arms, completely.
Not until,
You whisper your wish
In my cheeks.

And then i shall kiss your lips,
But not before I play for a while.

My Last Letter

2007-05-16T22:14:00.004+05:30

I can never forget that day, 27th January, 2005. Sitting on that bench outside the hospital room, I could helplessly see you fighting between life and death. But what really broke my heart was the fact that you were fighting for death. An attempt to commit suicide at the age of 16! It was scary for me. I sat there, shocked, with not a single word to offer... You had lost your mother, a pain only you could understand, perhaps you had every right to say goodbye to this life which has been so brutal to you.
We were just friends then, classmates, but secretly I always liked you. The first spring of my teenage, the first honey drenched dream of my life! I always thought of you as an angel I could only dream of.

Through your illness we grew closer. You objected my staying with you for long hours in that hospital room, but I refused to leave you alone. Lectures and notes became our excuses of staying together. We had no romantic beginning to our love. When I first held your hand, it was feeble and pale, when we first looked into each other's eyes, your eyes were shattered and frozen.

Your room was always gloomy, and I hated the darkness reflecting on your face; I remember opening that window when you first shouted at me, when I first made you cry. The harsh sunlight flushed your eyes, too hard for you; I had opened the wrong window. I understood that day that to take care of you I had to grow up, soon.

I learned to stay quiet, to listen to you, to just sit beside you, to let you feel your pain. It was the only way you could come out of it.
Things changed, slowly you were coming back to life.... My diary has got every detail, of not only our first kiss, but also our first trivial talks and pjs, your first smile and giggles.
It was dream coming true for me, you said you were in love with me. We made promises of staying together forever. Ah, that was a life I would miss for an entire lifetime!

Slowly, you have grown out of me. You have rediscovered yourself, and I have become just a reminder of your depressing days. I can see the change in you. When you date those spoiled punks, I am left with no right to even complain. You call it my "possessiveness"; but ain't I supposed to feel protective for you.

Perhaps, you want me to leave you, so I quit today. I once held the paintbrush to paint a perfect life for you, but you have decided not to have me in the picture; therefore I am handing over your brush to you. Paint it in your way.

You are happy today and I would have loved to say that I am happy too. But sadly, I am not; I miss the days when you were depressed and lonely and you had no one but me. Ah, it sounds bad, I am sorry.

copyright (c) Ankur Srivastava

Story of a Bud and A Dew

2007-05-10T09:53:00.002+05:30

A little bud amid thorns,
Beauty, shy of itself,
Yet urging to be touched.

A crystal dew from honey coated mist,
A suicidal wish brings it down,
To feel the touch of beauty.

The soft dew and the innocent bud,
First love’s purest kiss.
The dew romancing velvet petals,
Its tantalizing touch,
The bud blooms drenched in love.

Beauty in its full spring,
Invite the beast from far east.
The dew looks in awe,
At the Sun storming in,
Will the bud close again,
And grant him a life.

The infidel bud refuses to listen,
Developing into a wicked rose.

Just before its death,
The loving dew had to see,
The lusty sunrays
And the shameless naked rose.

Ah, before the sun could kill him,
His once beloved ashamed him to death.

copyright (c) Ankur

Night

2007-05-07T17:29:00.003+05:30

I stood on the cliff
In a cold windy night,
The fierce, hungry night
Glared at me,hit me hard
Ready to tear me apart.
I had nothing to be robbed of,
For i was a hollow filled with dark,
Loathed, alone and friendless
Like the night itself.

We soon became friends
We talked of the glorious moon
And you.
Stars flashed across the sky
As i remembered you.
From one star to another
I tried to draw constellations.
All the outlines resembled you.

Playful, brutal jealous night,
Liked a perfect lover,
Played its witches-craft,
And the stars perished.
Voids were created in the night,
Like my heart itself.

Moments passed in silence,
Night was about to go,
It beckoned me.
My new soulmate, night,
Ultimately leaving me again,
On another marooned cliff.
I decided against it this time.
In the arms of night,
I leaped with joy.

Have you noticed a faint star
Near your window
Last few nights?

Who Stole My Alprax?

2007-05-07T17:24:00.001+05:30

Who Stole My Alprax ?
Ah, it was there in the cupboard,
I couldn't have misplaced,
My most prized possession...
Nah, not a drug... my life instead,
My sleep, dream and sense.

Tell me, who stole my alprax?
An "over caring friend"
Or a curious child,
My mom couldn't have done it.
For it has been done silently.

Three days without sleep,
I am hitting keyboards in disdain,
Oh dear, read this little letter
And understand my pain.

The chemist asks for a prescription,
God! How should i tell him,
I know my problem,
And i fear the doc may know that better,
I am afraid of what he might discover.I
n any case, i need my alprax.

Not just pills,
My jewels, my dearest alprax...
Where is my packet of life.
Give it back, whoever you are
Or I am going to give up.
Give up completely,
Because without alprax,
I can't do, can't live.

A Silent Poem !

2007-05-04T14:36:00.002+05:30

To fly in the voids of a lonely heart,
I outstretch my arms again,
Only to realize,
I have no wings.

And then there is the moth,
I admire so much...
Arrested in a cobweb,
It continues to flap its wings,
Relentlessly, helpless!

We both have similar fate,
Neither can fly...yet we try.

Like this poem
That ached to say something,
But dies in silence.

Death Of Love

2007-04-27T07:28:00.002+05:30

In the court of love,
We stand still,
Heads bowed,
Two lovers,
Accused of killing love.
-----
Remember our last date,
Sitting across the table,
With nothing to say,
No one to listen.
We ate our own words,
Promises and dreams,
Silently.
-----
I, the eternal dreamer,
Now feel the pang,
Waking up...
You, too intelligent,
Today begging for dreams,
To keep a hope,
To live a lie.
-----
This pensive sigh,
This urge to die,
Is all that we still share.
-----
As we walk together,
For the last time.
our love shows the way,
To our separate graves.

Birth Of Sproutlet

2007-04-27T07:27:00.001+05:30

A seed was thrown away,
By a dusty, hot, summer wind...
Orphaned.

It fell down,
And was never picked up...
It was neither flower nor fruit,
An ugly seed.
But it lay safe.

Layers of earth piled up,
Weighed by it's wieght,
The little seed
Dreamt of the sun and the stars.
An overpowering wish,
To live again
Swole in its shrinking, starved gut.

Where sunrays could never reach,
A blessed rain seeped in.
A little caring drop,
Propelled the adamant seed.

A tiny sproutlet,
The son of darkness,
The warrior of dust;
Broke the layers of massive crust...

Smiling it came up,
Delicate yet so strong.
Bang into the eyes of sun,
The sproutlet winks with joy.

A Day In Love !

2007-04-17T00:01:00.002+05:30

Morning...
We wake up together.
Your warm breath,
Falling on my neck..
Senses coming to life.
Ah! One more day in love.

Your eyes,still sleepy,
Sunlight seeps in..
Through your eyes,
In my life.

Evening...
A welcome kiss,
As the sun takes a dip,
Stars in your silky hair.
Your voice,
Singing a lullabye...

A hook undone,
The glorious moon arrives,
In this pale moonlit night,
In your anticipating starry eyes...
A dream i wish for you,
In your fragnant breaths,
I have kept it there..
Safe between my lips.

One more day in love,
Our goodnight prayer.
And love listens.

A Missing Star !

2007-04-13T11:37:00.002+05:30

In an unending night,
You looked out of your window,
A dim star I was,
But your gaze gave me light.

Shinier than ever before
In the light of your love,
I challenged the sun.
I killed the dark ness,
And we grew fonder.

Your heart ached for me,
And I came closer to you…
We held hands and walked on
I was then your beloved lamp.

In a moment of passion,
You embraced me with your soul.
In your heart I found a new sky.
You called me your flame
The flame of life.

Now, the journey was yours,
I carried on,
Giving you warmth and love,
My very own blood burned
To keep the flame alive.

Your road has reached a dead end
You are reluctant to turn back,
And afraid to jump off.
I can show you no way
For there isn’t any.

Through all this,
I have completely forgotten
That once I was a star.
And I don’t know what I am now.

The Ecstasy Of Pain 6

2007-04-11T15:40:00.002+05:30

The Journey !

A rainbow washed away,

In a torrid rain.

An urge to fly

With clipped wings.

Beauty brutally raped,

Virgin body, battered soul.

In this weird world,

No surprise, I walk alone…

Desires burned away.

Hopes brushed aside

Dreams long forgotten.

Carefree steps,

A thumping heart…

Pain flows in the vessels.

Rampaging as a river.

A haunted winter night,

Remainig embers of guilt

Keeping me warm.

Notions falling apart.

Memories fading away.

A fresh beginning,

Every step.

Shadows chased

Horizons challenged.

On roads never visited,

Journey is the destination.

The Ecstasy Of Pain 5

2007-04-10T00:36:00.002+05:30

No Tear Is Born!

Somewhere in a quiet universe,
Silence grows into a lull
And ultimately shatters itself.

Darkness melts in darkness,
Thick as blood,
Rigid as clot,
You can almost see through it.

In haunted ignominy,
Solitude remains your only friend,
The dreaded comes true,
You fall in love with it.
Solitude is a brutal soulmate.

Some wounds can never heal,
Neither with love
Nor with time.
They integrate with your being.
A wounded existence!

In a ruined womb of pain,
No tear has ever been born!
It aches and bleeds,
A terrible spasm,
No matter how hard you push!

In a ruined womb of pain,
No tear is born!

The Ecstasy Of Pain 4

2007-04-10T00:34:00.001+05:30

A Quite Smoke

As I sit there
Smoking away my good old days,
Memories both sweet and bitter.

Cremating my own heart,
I see it turning to ashes.
A dimming light
What used to be a vivid spark.

Oh! my imprisoned soul,
Away she goes...free
As smoke-rings.
Oh! let me fly
These are my fairy wings.

With You Or Without You

2007-04-05T19:10:00.001+05:30

You try to read my eyes,
And I can’t tell you in your face,
That you read nothing,
You understand nothing.

My dreamy eyes have never lied,
You may have known my dreams,
If you had really tried.

It’s just that you look straight through me,
I feel ignored, and deserted.
Your eyes leave a sting in my soul
And yet you read nothing,
You know nothing.

It’s tough to be what I am,
A puzzle I have become,
You never bothered to know the code.
A boring riddle I am for you,
It’s tough to be what I am.

You want to walk along with me,
I want to hold your hand…
Preoccupied, you look away,
My cold hands are left trembling.

If one day I move ahead,
Or I fall back to catch my breath.
You will hold me guilty
And say it aloud,
You wanted to walk along with me.

But when we walk together,
Do you know,
How I hold back my screams,
How I drag my feet.

That I know this better,
You don’t want to walk with me.

You have a lot to offer me,
Your voice so sweet has often told me this
But dear, a reflection in my eyes can tell you
You just don’t know what I want.

With you or without you,
I yearn for you
And I never find you there.
With you or without you!

Starting Anew

2007-03-25T15:15:00.001+05:30

A poem without my signature,
Written some forgotten day.

In a race called life,
Footprints have faded away.

I walk back all over again
Slowly to the starting line.

I turn a fresh page,
New poem with a kissed sign.

Defining Myself

2007-03-25T15:13:00.000+05:30

An abstract that will find its rhyme,
A rebel against nature and time.

Love brutally deprived of grace,
Innocence has a battered face.

Because diplomacy is not my forte,
Solitude, my last resort.

Silence is my war cry.
Hopes, proved futile, refuse to die.

You may be flying high,
I reach the stars with a sigh.

Dreams, tearful eyes can’t see,
A thousand wishes and one me.

Love Calls Back

2007-03-20T14:35:00.001+05:30

The cuckoo responds to the return of spring
From the sweet smelling mango trees.

Or, perhaps the spring comes back
On the soulful call of little cuckoo.

The rains answer the prayers
Of a thirsty, bald, burning earth.

The earth welcomes the rain song
With intoxicating earthy scent,
Tender green twigs spring up.

Flowers bloom at the outbreak of dawn,
As the glorious morning sun
Romance with their delicate petals.

It is the yearning of innocent buds
That calls back the sun every morning.

Such is the nature of love
The way two lovers regroup,
It seems eternal
And yet the moments race away.
Only to be relived and rediscovered.

May be, you pulled me back
May be, I knocked at your doors.
We are together again,
And everything else has faded away.

Because Life Moves On

2007-03-16T06:33:00.002+05:30

I look back
To see crowded roads
I left long ago,
Friends who deserted me
without a goodbye,
And gestures of kindness
From strangers.
"No looking back" I say
and move on.

Withered with thirst,
Tired, shattered and broken,
I look back again...
My mommy's lullaby,
My papa's strong shoulders,
My growing up,my first step,
My first failure,bruised knees,
Tears mixed with sand,
"No more tears", I hear
And move on.

Before a steep road,
Stoney and lonely,
With roadblocks all around,
I take a sigh and close my eyes...
I see my first date,
The blush on her cheeks,
My hasty voice,
Sweet nothings we wishpered,
The taste of her lips.

Suddenly I am shaken to truth,
No haunted solitude,
No one besides me.

I look inside...
So many memories
Yet i feel empty, drained, lost...
Voices fade away,
And breath is caught in my lungs,
Visions blurr...

I look ahead and
With a little shake of head,
A shrug of shoulders,
Clinched fist,
One giant stride
I move on.

The Ecstasy Of Pain 3

2007-03-13T05:11:00.002+05:30

I refuse to smile,
No, I can’t,
I am sad, I don’t feel cheerful.
Smile is the expression of bliss.
It should be innocent
Tender, playful,
May be naughty at times.
Like it once was.

It should not be forced
Or else,
It will look like a crack
A break, a scar, a wound.

It can’t be used as a mask.
I won’t wear facades.
I am not guilty,
I need not hide.

I am simply hurt,
Badly hurt,
Brutally hurt.
My pain is real, innocent
Please let it be.
Please let it heal.

I won’t scream
It’s not my way.
I need no lullabies
So, what if I can’t sleep.
I will stay up, awake;
And weave new dreams.

Silence will discover peace
Pain will meet joy.
I will find me.

The Ecstasy Of Pain 2

2007-03-12T17:47:00.002+05:30

You may have seen nightmares
And woken up screaming.
Last night I woke up
To see the worst nightmare
And I could not scream,
Neither could I sleep again.

I went for a stroll
It was early morning,
Or late night perhaps.
Didn’t really matter,
As all times seemed alike.

The day slowly unfolded,
A little child in me
Wanted to cry again,
But it was crowded in the park,
A frantic pain rose in my chest.
And only smoke came out
Through my hollow eyes.

I walked on,
But could not feel the earth,
No, I wasn’t numb,
I was stuck,
I was sinking with the earth.

Ah, it was great pain
To see the earth sinking.
Even the sky screamed,
A scar across it’s dark face,
Tears poured on all of us,
Blood came through the scar
They called it rainbow.

But, I know
The earth and sky were hurt
And me too.

Caught In The Cobweb

2007-03-09T14:36:00.001+05:30

On a corner of my window,
I found entangled strands of silver
Beaded with pearls,
Sining in the thin sunshine,
Amused by its delicacy
I moved closer.

To my surprise,
It was a cobweb
Ladden with dewdrops,
Arresting a tiny insect
Hanging in the air
Perhaps unaware of its fate,
A life slowly coming to an end.

I wonder,
Is that me?
Chained with sackles;
Simingly delicate yet so strong,
However elegant and beautiful;
Suspended between heaven and hell
Unaware of the peril.

Sunrise

2007-03-09T13:47:00.004+05:30

They walked together on the seaside
to see the sun rise,
his eyes were still sleepy
like he was walking in sleep
his dreams peeping through her eyes.

The dawn had not yet descended
the stars looked in awe
two people from different worlds
she was beauty and grace
wit and charm,he?
he was just a dreamer,
his hair like hay
and sleepy eyes,
they strolled together
between night and day.

She said in voice so lovely,
"the sand is so soft
like walking on cake"
he didnt feel it
he could only feel
her palm so soft in his hands
was he really awake???

"touch can be so touching!!!"
as his feet brushed against
her bare dovefeet,delibirately?

He thanked the wind
as her hair fell on his face
"once more o sweet breeze!"
this was way too good
he was clearly not at ease.

She admired the sun
as it rose from the sea;
"sun should rise from her bossom"
you know he was lost,
the sun or his love,
I am not sure
what caused him envy.

And then he felt the sunrise
as she kissed him on cheek
he touched her lips
his mouth was filled with sun
he couldnot speak.
the sun plunged into the waters
as he kissed her;

I can tell you what followed
but he cant because
in that one moment
he lost his senses
forever in her lips.

You know his eyes were sleepy
and he was a dreamer.

I Am The Poem !

2007-03-06T07:41:00.002+05:30

I am the poem !

You wrote a lovely poem
And threw it away,
Just because it didn’t rhyme?

You had told me,
“The lines are meaningless,
The dreams weaved are unreal,
It’s too abstract.
It can’t be sung,It reaches nowhere.”

Many unsung poems you have,
Between your books
Lost, forgotten.
Dead pieces of papers.

You kept it by your bed,
It was too abstract,
But you read it daily.

Yes, it was meaningless,
The letters were blurred.
Why? Did you cry?
You had brushed the question away
“No it did, it cries too.”

You held it to your chest,
You had said,
“One day, It will rhyme.”

You kissed the end lines,
“Ah, why can’t it reach somewhere.”

And then you threw it away,
Tell me, why?

Your poem is now bleeding.
it is about to die.

Tell me, why?

What if it can never rhyme?

I am the poem !

Joker

2007-03-05T06:42:00.001+05:30

I make people laugh, they say I am a joker... I will tell you how it feels to be one,
It's about the real jokers, don't take this for me...

JOKER

I am a joker
with a smiling mask,
not a magician
but almost as amusing.

Thrown on the stage
to make you laugh.
The jokes you hear
are a kind of prayer,
a communication to God
my struggle to survive.

My mask vivid and colorful
reds and greens and yellows,
let the dark remain hidden.
Read the animated expressions
don’t look into my eyes
or I may crumble down.

Raise your hands
for a huge applause,
and grin, whistle and make my fun,
that’s what I am here for.

Please don’t sympathize,
don’t come for a handshake,
and don’t ask me how I feel,
don’t chase me behind the curtains.

I am a joker;
don’t ask my name
I don’t remember.
I was born normal
but its what they say
I don’t really know.

One day the show will end for me
but you won't get a clue.
What you recognize is a mask
that will be passed on.
The agony of death
I will bear alone.

I Am A Dream !

2007-03-04T00:12:00.001+05:30

Neither the way I pretend
nor what I seem,
I am nothing but a dream..

With layers to be scratched,
Cryptic meanings,
Unplumbed depths
And hieghts unconquered,
A story untold,
A language unknown,
All painted in a blurred vision...

Loved or loathed,
A feeling of nostalgia
Often forgotten,
Colours will soon dissolve,
And voices in slumber
Would be lost,
Recognition and admiration
and the distance between,
Dream with ambitious wish....

Safe in your oyester eyes
I have got a lovely life,
Rays of sun will mark my end
Dawn will never descend,
I shall die even before
I truely come alive....

I am nothing but a dream...

Eternal Bliss

2007-03-04T00:02:00.001+05:30

I tiptoe into the noisy town,
One more dusty afternoon.
A little child crying in a corner.
I split a candy into two,
We shared a sweet smile.

The day is breezy again.
A small window opens at dawn,
Dew drops sparkle in the sun,
A momentary bliss to hold on to.
The numbness in my tearful eyes
Evaporate with a ray of hope,
Giving way to nascent dreams.
A thousand wishes live again.

On a lost way in mid desert,
There is an oasis at last.
I thank the mirages,
They kept me going for so long.

A stormy, gloomy, rainy evening,
A bud opens reluctantly,
A bird hides in my little hut.
Rainbow slowly unfolds its beauty,
I walk on the dissolving colors.
Sweet earthy smell shows me way.

Hide And Seek

2007-03-03T23:58:00.001+05:30

You remember that tube-well?
How I filled my little bucket,
And we sprayed all the water around,
A bucket full of joy.

And when we chased butterflies
In those bushes of laughter,
When I brushed your curly hair,
How your sweet giggle rang.
Butterflies, I set them free.

You always said,
I was so awful at fishing.
At the riverside in long afternoons
When your little rose reddened
With frustration and anger.
It was all I fished for.

You will be sad to know this,
Our little mud castle
Was washed away in one rain.

The Gulmohar we planted together
Has grown big but it's still young.
Trees never grow old,
They never leave their air...

Now this game of hide and seek
Has gone too long;
The sun is about to set.
Tired, I give up now,
Common and say "Den!".
I am waiting.
Let's play a new game.

The Ecstasy Of Pain

2007-02-28T17:55:00.003+05:30

Two eyes awake in pain,
Beads of tears dead.
Dreams lie quiet, afraid, still.

Lips twisted in a smile,
Dry flaky lips,
They don't understand,
They can only feel.

A whisper echoes
In deep well of solitude,
Where despair sprouts up,
Roots of hope can never reach.

I pick up my paint-brush,
A crimson dot on blue canvas;
Colors reflect dimly.
Clouds wander, homeless,
They don't rain now,
They just wander.

The load of pain
Seems too heavy.
I burn them to ashes,
And burry in the ground.

I kick the earth,
Wounds open up again.
Ah! The ecstasy of pain,
I bleed, I walk.

Two poems from euphoria and despair

2007-02-24T15:13:00.001+05:30

You can't understand all emotions, can you?

1.WE WILL MEET AGAIN..

We will meet again
After a long time perhaps
But for just one moment
We will meet for sure.

We will sit together
No words, no talks
No past to hold to,
No future to hope for,
Just that one moment...
That solitary moment;

Looking into each other's eyes
Not with the love
That brought us so close;
Not with the differences
That tore us apart;
Clear as dewdrops
Pure as morning light,
Just that one steady gaze
The only regard of the only moment;

You will know you
And I will find me,
You will have me
I will have you,
We will smile softly
At our foolish ignorance
That lasted so long;

That one moment will be
The only life of this life.

2.You or I?

You call me in the nights,
knowing that i fear darkness
and loneliness
my only loyal companions;

I answer your phone in deep slumber,
"i love you" is all i say,
all i have ever said,
all i can ever manage to say.
And you hang the phone i fall asleep.

"Insensitive", you may call me
but i have grown numb,
it has been my life....

I wake up with
streaks of dried tears on my face.
Unable to remember
who cried last night
YOU or I?

Two Short Poems

2007-02-22T15:39:00.002+05:30

Two short poems on entirely differnt themes,

1. A Mystic Dream

With virginity of
a dew drop,

Lure of
A distant horizon,

Hope of
A long summer night,

Warmth of
A winter sun,

Blessings of
An awaited rain,

I painted a dream
On a lonely moon...
And found You.

2. I Live In You

My love dwells in your heart
Like a baby in the womb
Of surrogate mother,

Unwanted, perhaps not cherished
Yet nurtured with great care,

Arising emotions conflicting,
Yet so tender;
I live in you.

Letter To The God

2007-02-22T10:10:00.001+05:30

Dear God,
I hope you know how to
read and write,
Please answer my letter.

They say nothing can hurt You,
I wonder You don't understand pain!
If that's the case,
How can You heal it?

They say You love everyone alike.
But love is such a biased emotion!
Is Your love for me
Different than my mother's?
Then it must be "lesser love"!

They say everything happens
by God's will,
I hope its not true,
Or You would have died of guilt!

God, we don't need You.
We need a friend of Humanity!
We bully and abuse our friends,
And fall back to him
In times of crisis!
We don't worship them,
It draws a line!

God, I know I am foolish,
But You are wise,
Enlighten me, answer my letter.

God, a little question I have...
Are You a spoiled little child?
And this earth your Video Game?
You make us jump and fall,
And you bomb us away?
You laugh at our plight?

Please Answer my letter.
And don't mind.

Yours doubtfully,
Ankur

My Favourite Poem

2007-02-21T15:27:00.002+05:30

This is one poem of mine that I am really proud of, cocky as I may sound!
Well, who demarcates between right and wrong? How clear and sharp is the line? And what about those who live at the edge not because they are bad but because that's where they get a little space to live? Just a poor excuse? Read on,

SIN !!!
The heavy knife swung like
A sword from the hell,
Chop-Chop-Chop...
Minutes before it was like his son,
Now it is just "chunks of meat".

He dared not look in its eyes
Its cry ripped apart his heart,
This one was particularly dear to him
But after all it was a lamb
And he is a butcher.

He could have spared its life
He loved it so much,
It was such a sin...
But what about them
Whom he slaughtered daily?
They too had a right to live
But he killed them
So he had to kill it.
Killing innocent creature is a sin?
How will he bear the load
Of "a life lived on sin"?

But he has a daughter of 21
He must marry her off this year,
His old mother cannot live hungry
After the tiring life she has had,
And his sons must study
they have to be different
Not like him who learnt nothing else..

He avoids the questions in his mind,
Spreads his heavy blood stained hand
And asks for MONEY.

Two Love Poems

2007-02-20T15:52:00.002+05:30

Well, I wonder why do people love because it seems that love brings so much pain but then I also think that you can't love if you don't know what pain is. It's in the darkest trench of pain that we know the real depth of love. And so I write,

1. An Ode To My Love

Life-
Burdened with time,
Broken into nasty days
And sleepless nights.
A moment remains free,
Undivided, whole, infinite.
The moment I spend with you

My soul-
Buried in a figment of universe.
Bound to hatred,
Lies hunger and defeats.
And I cling to you
With delicate rays
Sharing your warmth,
Luminosity and life.

I am-
Insecure and afraid
Of the conspiring tides.
Looking for hiding,
Your love spins a cocoon
And I survive the storms.
Come closer, my love!
The sobs of my grieving heart
Will merge into your rhythmic beats.
Mourning voices dissolve
In an enchanting love song.

O My Love!
Leave me for a moment not.
Embrace meand be my wings.
Let me fly
In your serene dark eyes

2. Valentine's Morning

The moon gazer held her hand,
As the night was about to end.
He prayed hopelessly
To hold back the last moments of night.
The sun was about to come.

Through her hair,
He reluctantly looked up.

The bond they shared was special,
It wasn’t a mere touch,
Their flesh almost merged together.

She smiled at him,
He smiled back,
A faint moonlight across their lips.

But Heavens never liked them.

As the sun came on,
Furious and brutal,
They embraced each other tightly.
Trying to forget the reality
That surrounded them.

The last words he whispered
In her lips,
“I saw a dream
And it winked at me.
I touched it And it vanished.”

All Alone

2007-02-18T15:07:00.000+05:30

One of my first poems, and the one which I read when I feel down,

ALL ALONE

I am all alone
But don't come with me.
No, i need none.

Don't listen to my screaming soul,
Don't follow my bleeding legs.
They all lie,
They only make my efforts foul.
I am telling the truth
I don't need you.

You will leave me in midway
May be I would collapse then.
So let me collapse now
Atleast I will try to rise.
Don't hold me in your arms,
Set me free to fly.
I will fall down happily otherwise,
Atleast, i will kiss the wind.

There is no medicine to heal my wounds
I don't want your intoxicating touch.
Because that will only fool my senses;
After you are gone
It wil ache more than ever before.
So let me bear this pain
It doesnt hurt anymore.

Let me walk alone
Don't come to help me,
If u wish...
Watch from a distance,
And hope that i rise again
Each time i tumble down.

Because this is my road;
I must walk with my load
And i must walk all alone....

Suicide

2007-02-18T06:39:00.000+05:30

Nah re! The thought of killing myself never crossed my mind, but isn't it shocking that many people kill themselves?
Think about it, how painful it is.. To think of getting away from all your loved ones, leaving them to weep. What forces a man to kill himself...?
Failure in exams ?
A hopeless career ?
Being ditched by lover ?
Problems in married life ?

But, have you ever thought that in times of disaster like Tsunami, people lose all they have, much more than love, money, home, family combined.... everything, yet they fight to survive. They die crying for help, frantically trying to dodge death... and someone walks to the cliff and jumps off, or swallows pills, or burns himself....
Think about it guys! I will write more, But when one of your friends or even acquaintances faces depression, help him out of it... don't think twice, do your bit.... you may be saving a life.