Tuesday, August 30, 2011

THE FALSE CURTAIN

Negating all personal itchings 
I melted myself to his conditions
Ministering to his demands
to the ultimates of feasability
Cutting and pruning my ways
to the dance of his desires
to the marry-go-round of his moods
So dissolved I was in him
that nothing was left personified
No ding-a-sich of the philosopher
save an epi-phenomenon
Godly following the foot-sleeps
of the euratic deity
Touching, bowing and caressing
the dust of his charms
When chance tumbled the way
the false curtain did sway...!
-KS

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

CLOVE AND ROOT

It was a very strange incident, or I shall say incidents which I happened to experience today. Thrice I saw cloves today, though in different forms- a picture, a real clove that fell on my head accidently and a mention of a clove in something I was reading. It intrigued my philosophical hunger and what I came up is this:
"Why the clove?" I asked within and the answer did come. The stem of the clove is symbolic of the root, the divine source of all Energy, which is the Omnipresent. This root source splits into the four prongs that represent the four energies, four pillars, four corners on which the world sits. The round ball in the middle of the clove is symbolic of the world. These four energies support the world. The very meaning of the word clove is c-love. C-love or the conscious love. Love of conscience.
There is a lot more to it but I posted this here because I did not want to lose track of the thought that passed by. 
-KS

Friday, August 12, 2011

KHAYAAL

Ik aag si sulagti hai mann ke bheetar
Us pardarshi dhund me hu doobi
Yeh daastan nahi sigr hai dil ki
Ik meetha aur thanda sa ehsaas
Garmahat diye sim sim karta hai zehen me...

Us lau par tapti chuban ki mithas
Sannate me gunjati ik awaaz
Ghor andhyali me aroma ka vo diya
Parvate-mehtaab se roshan hai yeh raat
Ik parvane ki chaahat liye...

Us geet ki madhurta me
Is pal ke thahraav me
Saanson ki lae me 
Dhadkan ki taal me
Aankhon ki nami me
Chand ki gami me
Boondon ki chaal me
Hawa ki aah me
Meri chahat me
Zehen ki garmahat me
Us ek ruh ki kami seena-figar karti hai
Woh pal badam-khayal aate hain
Tum yaad aate ho...!
- KS

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

THE RUMBA

Being intensely passionate about Ballroom Dance forms Rumba is among my favorites; though I can never chose between which one I like the most. During our Creative Writing classes, on the very first day we were told to write a spontaneous piece and what I wrote about was on Dance, The Rumba. So today talking about Rumba with an old friend of mine ,I had to write about it in this space. Here it goes:

Rumba is all about telling your story. It is a dance of Love.
It holds the expression of desires through movements captured in moments.
Rumba is a vertical expression of a horizontal wish; a dance of intimacy beholding immense intoxication.
The man holds the lady like the skin on her side is the reason for life.
Like she is the only one there.
He holds her close to his chest as if their hearts beat as one.
Enhancing their rhythmic movements; he pushes her back like his heart has been ripped off his chest.
Pulls her back like she is the only one he is living for, breathing for.
They breathe deep together enhancing the length of their clinging bodies; elucidating the intensity of their Love and contentment of being One.
Towards the end he drops her... 
As if she has ruined him for life...!



- KS

Thursday, August 04, 2011

IMAGES


Some images have caught me crying,
Their ramifications are still underlying.
Some images have held my breadth,
And some have scared me to death.
Some of my images closed my eyes;
Some images of mine lost my smiles.

The darker images lost my identity.
The faded ones decided to prove me fake,
The reticence in them made me moribund;
No image held my truth forever.
None supported my cradle of faith ever.
Why would I have lost my ordained past?
Through those images I seethe and delusion was cast.
What would I have lost my images, my moments to?
May be the feigning that got me through,
Rather doubting filth of the strange;
Somebody then told me that I have changed.

No image supported the true being of mine;
No sacristy made the loyalty shine.
It is all erroneous that was to pompous in reality;
It’s not the moments but my immorality.
I sequester but can’t elucidate the insight like wine;
Benevolent, enigmatic or façade but the images are mine...!
- KS