Archive for the ‘Unsung poetry’ Category

The Perpendicular Universe Songs of a Ruin SOAR

This came out as a justification to the title of a new blog I decided to run, trying to satiate my poetic head. You could check out the link for the same:

             SONGS OF A RUIN

Voices I make
From embers of dead,
Silent croons they are
They go unheard.

Brute heads
Don’t turn around
To have a look
At my mess.

New was I once,
Alive and the breathing kind.
My red was strong,
My head was bright.

I’d see the sun
Before it’d see me.
Would heave in dusk,
And embrace their dark.

And count stars all night,
My pastime,
As if all gloom
Was mine.

Would chat with birds
And laugh with breeze,
Weep with rains
And play with bees.

And behold the grand,
Praise the right,
They bowed to me
Might was me.

Now ashes I feel,
Cinders I taste,
Old and rotten,
My body it fades.

My neck ails,
Yet I feel a song,
Perched up in pain,
That just won’t come out.

My glee forgotten,
Husk I am,
Rip me apart
O rain! Cry me away!

I have seen it all,
What a ruin is man
What hatred he holds!
Shudders my soul.

Silent mouths
They howl anyway
My story of stones
Grated with time.

Their greed for theirs,
Plundered my heart.
Took me away,
From me.

Piece by piece,
Ripped apart
To invisible,
To Nothing.

Hollow I am,
Echoes cease in my webs,
Wrought by naught,
Empty within.

I am a ruin,
Don’t wish to be
The tread of the dead,
But the walk of the living.


The Perpendicular Universe firecrackerI wove this beauty whilst I was working. Came across a beautiful pic of fireworks on hitRECord. Suddenly it got me thinking about how we are so much engrossed in our lives that we hardly look up at the night sky. Isn’t it beautiful too? I tried to put sense in “why am I not upstairs looking at the starry dark” ever, and why we always consider something evanescent like a firework gorgeous.

Fleeting is always beautiful. Time makes it more splendid. The jaded of forever doesn’t bind it. That’s what makes it alluring. Read on:

          The Firework

Lit up the night,
With a thousand flies,
Those weren’t stars,
But bulbs of red

Of green, and blue,
Of blood and sweat,
Of might and white,
The rainbow of the dark.

Did you ever bide to see?
The dead so good,
A starry night,
On a tarry road?

Of stories told,
On a board that black?
So bleak it seemed,
So stark this dark!

This running life,
That hates to stop,
And loves to fly,
Not to the skies

Where lurks those stars,
Where sun hides,
Only calls its dreams,
That the sun can hear

But the stars can’t hark,
Coz it’s bright and full of life,
But the night is dull,
Only calls for lull.

Wait we for,
A spark of light,
Not the dead of bright,
That stays all night.

Wait we for,
Fleeting specks,
That don’t stay up,
Like us all night.

Those works of fire,
That light our sky,
Catch our hold,
Of breath that goes

Forever, and bound in spell,
We stand for swell,
To take it all,
To breathe it in.

For it lasts,
Only a moment,
Is all we have,
In this running life, that just can’t stop.

The Perpendicualr Universe Diary

I wrote this one while I was enjoying the break I cracked during a festive season. I was home looking for something to do, whilst my mother hummed to her chores. I was reminded of an intact diary I had seen lying around in my living room for ages. As I turned its leaflets my heart inadvertently drifted towards poetry. Sad white pages they seemed. They wished for ink and lo! the poet in me groped for a pen and inundated the famished land with blue from the skies. I breathed the following poem on its first page:

          Blank Pages in Dust

Dazed I am to see you blank,
Your empty beckons my crowd,
And this itch in my hand I get,
To fill you up with my loud.

Every leaf that croons
And weeps in tears,
For a pen of ink,
For a pen of smears.

The Whites, they whisper
In hushed voices of despair,
They long for a soul
To brim them with a layer

Of stories, of tales, of legends
That shatter souls and wrench guts,
That reek of pain, that speak of truth
Of houses built with broken huts.

“Fill me up, O mighty sword!
I pray for blood.
Pray lance my skin,
I wish thy flood.”

Cries every void I see,
These leaves in dust,
They will die unheard,
Fill ’em with life I must.


I remember the time I wrote this. Reclining in a not-so-comfy office chair in Chennai. Had plenty of time then, primarily because there was no work, also no one around because of the night shifts I was stuffed into. My mind would occasionally fleet to horizons of introspection and quite frequently to dismay. As I tried to linger on the same old sweet grief from the past of a body I couldn’t put a face to, I fell into the pits of cogitation. I wondered how all this time I was just by myself. Was life supposed to be like this? Am I going to find the one? Do I have someone written for me?

I have this bizarre emotional side to me that I am not that proud of, yet at times I am, probably because it emanates some brilliant streams of thoughts that bring life to a dead page. Read this beauty, drenched in simplicity, that I had penned going into that powerful yet innocent zone of sentience that brought tears to my eyes with its veritable surge. I am asking for my soul-mate to apparate into my life:

You are right there in the corner

I feel your presence.
I know you exist.
Am sure you are there,
Just out of my reach.

You lie in creation.
Without a face, without a body.
Yet I know,
You are right there.

Just within a hand’s reach,
Wish I had longer arms
I would hold you tight
And never let go.

Tired as I am,
To see you in the mist,
Wish I had vision, more clearer,
To see through, what lies yonder.

Wish I had a mouth,
That actually spake,
Every once in a while,
Words that’d bring you to reality.

Aware as I am,
Of your vibes around me,
Wish I could feel your skin
Against mine.

Wish I had that profound a heart
That would sense your presence,
And tell me,
You are around.

Wish I had at least,
Those wary ears
To hear your voice
That would assure me of your arrival.

You are not distant.
Close as you are,
I can sense your scent.
Wish I had better olfaction.

Oh my other half!
My precious reflection!
Wherever you are,
Just find me

Or knit me at least,
A path
That would guide me,
To you.

Tell me!
With words of love
Where do I look,
With these blind eyes?

Or hark with heed,
At my screeching door,
For your chiming bell.
Just tell!

I know you are perfect,
In every dimension,
In every world
Just built for me.

Oh my Yin!
I am empty without you.
Come to me soon!
And resurrect this dead.


Have this wont of going profound. Can’t help it! There is this poetic side of me, which slows down on an amazing quote, remembers the emotional bit, and captures the heartfelt in everything life offers. So that the beauty of poetry never ceases, I have decided to tag along another category into my blog and call it ‘Unsung Poetry‘.

The poet in me was never dead. It just went on a hiatus. Now that I have decided to keep throwing in bits of poetry hither and thither into the newly created label, I think I will resurrect my writing habits. That way my leaflets would be brimming with stuff to read.

The first one is the most recently penned bit which I have decided to kick-start this project with. Empathy runs wild in my veins, and I can’t help slip into someone’s skin to perceive pain. The poem is dedicated to one of my truest friends and it runs on his recent turn of traumatic and agonizing events, and for his appalling loss I wept like a cloud in excruciating angst. Written from his perspective:

 My Grief Isn’t Yours to Take

 What makes you cry, O weary eye?
Nothing lost you have,
You still have a life,
Mine’s taken away.

Why do you croon for my loss?
This void, I have to bear,
The pain is mine, this angst is mine,
Why do you even care?

Why weep in blood?
Why feel my pain?
Why take my shoes?
And soil my rain?

Why find you gutters?
Thy soul still flutters!
You can soar quite high,
Your wings hath flight.

Your face has a smile,
Your soul has a heart,
Your limbs can talk.
Still, why do you seek my bruises?

This woe isn’t yours,
This dead all mine.
Why do you shower more than my eyes?
You lost nothing!

The truth in your orbs
Bothers my grief,
I am still not over this lie
Called life.

Why do you take it away?
My agony has just begun.
Let me fade with it,
I wish not to stay.

The world has just ended.
This sorrow isn’t yours to take.
Don’t feel my misery!
It’s all mine to make.

Don’t wash it away with your tears.
I will cry till my rivers dry.
And leave me barren
And lifeless.

Just let me be!
Don’t feel for me,
Is all I ask.
Just let me wither away.

I wail for heeding ears
That aren’t deaf.
Now I weep for mercy,
So the dead might come awake.