Words of Clay – “Gardener of Beauty”

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From His prison of aesthetics, can you grant me liberty?

From that hypnotic trance of His artistry, can you set me free?

Will I ever be able to alter my duty?

For at the celestial factory,

He sculpted me himself for sheer exclusivity,

To serve my years in flesh till the dusk of eternity,

As a zealous Gardener of Beauty…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

The journey ends with this post…

Thank You! readers for all your appreciation, inspiration and support. 

 

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/about

Words of Clay – “Be my King”

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Be my King this life,

I shall uproot that seedling of ego,

Shoo away from within my emotions of strife,

Into my ears, your weakness when they blow,

I shall wag it lame, bark it a hoax,

For in the game of  the wise,

The one in checks, without the dice,

Both, the King and his Pawn are packed back into the same box…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/about

Words of Clay – “Danced the Frogs…”

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Touched down heavy those clouds dark,

Swelled those droplets Divine,

Beams rolled roaring across the skies,

Stray dogs did no more bark,

Tied helpless, mooed cows from the shed,

Grunted wet that homeless swine,

Visible the pond, swayed away the fog,

Celebrated therein, the tailless amphibian clan,

To tunes of the whistling tempest,

Chuckles of the swaying trees shy,

The hymn of the peacock, jingles of the hopping fish,

Beats of the thunder high,

Danced, Danced the Frogs…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/about

Words of Clay – ” Living Blue, Living True”

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Vulnerable, much envied resides the Buddha within,

Inner peace is no more free, a price seeps in,

Yet the blue man continues to live it true,

Crouching under his marble umbrella Trojan,

His need for protection pinches him human,

Humbles him his mortality to respect Nature’s curfew,

Not a stain of compromise could taint his virtues,

Confident in a smile! The toughest of climes pass away, too…

Deb’013

Artist : Gauri Sakhuja

Words of Clay” is a poetic journey through the creations of Gauri Sakhuja, a young and talented Indian sculptor from her latest solo exhibition at Triveni Kala Sangam, New Delhi, India.

 

For more on the artist, visit : https://www.facebook.com/gauri.sakhuja/info

Lost in Sounds

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Ripens the dusk into a golden day,

Beaks squeak, stretch out new red gums,

Hungry has them the yawning Sun,

Squeaks sharpen shrill and shriller from within their cradle of hay,

A flutter of a pair of mature wings,

Duty shoots up, cries aloud,

Greetings to the Lord, out of the green canopy,

That hiss of the leaves then,

The clutter of the lark’s flaps into that wilderness blue,

The viper crushing through the crispy carpet beneath,

Boots on fried leaves, munch munch,

Wandered the Ranger sniffing scales astray,

Up and close with me, face to face,

Words shot out from his mouth,

Like meteors from a meteoroid,

They hit me everywhere, missed my ears though,

Strangers now to man’s gibberish, they were busy, you know,

The Viper’s soft crush sparkled into a slithery fleeting escape,

Rang like a bell, that long rub of slipping scales,

On their sleek couches, debated those baboons,

Sang the nightingale unnerved,

A stench of sweat jostled me back,

Oh! The Ranger, he was still talking, talking to me,

Listen! Thuds of the angry elephant,

His trumpets of caution,

On his way to trample and plunder,

Soars the volume, intensifies, as if reaching us that hush,

Branches being broken,

Shown the ground, bushes and weeds,

Facing each other we stood there,

Though I was away with my ears,

Frustrated, hands on holster, that Ranger,

He was yelling futile, still talking to me…

Debaroon’2013

(This piece is completely inspired by the 2013 Bengali (an East Indian language) film, ‘Shobdo’ (Sound) by Kaushik Ganguly.

The movie narrates a unique tale about a recording studio professional that has been making a living by naturally producing sounds, heard around us in our daily lives. For example, he shakes a half filled jar of grains fast and faster in front of the microphone to produce the sound of a passing toy-train. Another, example from the film itself is the scene where he creates the sound of the flapping wings of a hundred pigeons that depart the streets into the skies after a scattered mail of grains, simply by flapping together two bunches of ripened big leaves in each of hands, right in front of the microphone.

He develops a strange obsession for imitating and creating sounds around him. His passion stretches out of control to an extent where his brain slowly slithers out of the habit of decoding human speech with any kind of noise around.

He might only be able to comprehend you if you are talking to him in a sound proof room with pin drop silence. Anywhere else, he will not be able to understand human language and decipher the sound of human speech, anymore.

This is His story…

For more on the movie, Shobdo (Sound) : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shabdo

For the movie trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OOzquVF_fc )

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://radmanlew.blogspot.in

Mission India’013: Kill Poor Kids

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Your crawl from rags to riches,

From broken pathways of mud,

Running like streams through harvested fields,

To sovereign bungalows looking over the Capital’s naval,

Gorging on the country’s yields,

Was balanced on your labor wheels,

Yet, what ignited your engine for the victorious path,

Were blessings from a million hearts,

Many a brother of yours might have toiled more hard,

But, power awaited you, your ambitions shone right from the start,

Into bureaucratic caves with the nation over phones,

Your lifetime opportunity to eat to the bones,

The crouching tiger, snarling hungry, beating years,

Is now unlocked, unchained served with meat,

Will he only eat only whatever’s served?

Or, will he hunt down darling helpless babies, call a curfew?

Your hungry past has stirred you so well in that greedy beer,

You’re scoring acres in ripening lands, blinded you’re poisoning our future,

Or maybe it’s your plan to relieve the nation, slash the burden of its poor,

Let’s see how high you soar,

The Mother’s curse shall soon break your oars,

Let your sins mount, breathes heavy this blood-stained topography,

Trust me you’ll be painted naked on wall graffiti,

Stripped off, your serious mask of philanthropy…

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Debaroon’2013

(An enraged expression directed at a corrupt governmental machinery, responsible for the recent headlines :

“22 children die after eating mid-day meal in Bihar school”

“Autopsies find insecticide in food given to Bihar school kids”

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/news/22-children-die-after-eating-mid-day-meal-in-bihar-school/283310

http://www.hindustantimes.com/India-news/Bihar/Autopsies-find-insecticide-in-food-given-to-Bihar-school-kids/Article1-1094382.aspx

)

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://www.virunews.com

http://economictimes.indiatimes.com

http://www.indiawest.com

Thus Spake The Koh-i-Noor!

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In me shines this unworthy world, crystalline,

When I rose, dropped out of the fool’s hand,

Rubbed off his dirty palm in that Kollur mine,

Thus began my journey to change royal fates,

Desired me every eye, I was an emperor’s richest conquest,

Ringed fingers rubbed me in silk,

Brighter than the Sun shone his sight,

Devoured me his vision, rolled the chariot,

Into the fortress of Golkanda, past cannons on the guarded entrance,

The stone’s fatal when eyed with lust, a witness River Krishna watches by…

 

On each prism, on every beaming face of mine,

Reflections of greed and sins reside,

The Mughal touch doubled my worth,

I defined beauty for them, its truest shade to live for and die,

From Gwalior in the shadow of bloodthirsty swords,

Strode my destiny, protected by a thousand heroes,

On the sea of silver and gold was floating then, the Sultanate of Delhi,

Awaiting light in the aromatic darkness of the royal treasury,

Rested the Mughal fortune, now the clan of Babur could sigh wealthiest…

 

A kaleidoscope of arches, cones and balls,

In gold, shone bright embedded colours,

Every feather of the royal bird, a precious stone,

Draws in a universe, that perch in gold,

Ripening fortunes, an empire beaming on display,

Only my inclusion to adorn the royal seat,

Brought into limelight Shah Jahan’s fetish for beauty,

I ruled over rubies, emeralds, diamonds and pearls,

The Mughal lustre was spreading worldwide,

From the day I shone from the Peacock Throne…

 

I’d never seen lust so raw for me,

That desire to possess me, have me to adorn a destiny,

Like that in the eyes of this Persian invader,

The only ones that could behold in me the Mountain of lights,

For me, he had a name, a dream one with the brightest sheen,

Of my desirability jealous grew the Queen,

With the King dead, a new Afghani conquest,

Her Majesty, she might have then understood,

Its tongue hanging out, awaited me the Mountains of Hindu Kush,

The rocky barrenness couldn’t match my grandeur for long,

I was off to a place dressed in silk, exotic enough to have me secure,

Amidst treasures of the British pawn in Lahore…

 

Visitors peeping over the glass,

Just for a glimpse of the cross,

More clear on the Imperial Crown,

A glance of the stone that they’d been told about,

I wonder if they realize the price that I’d drawn from generations,

To own me once, kingdoms have been ravaged,

Kings have chosen to possess me then perish with true salvation,

The powerful has been my slave eternally,

I have been won and lost, lost and won,

Never been used to such prolonged peace

Such helpless eyes craving coward and quiet,

I wonder if this is the most powerful seat,

I wonder if I’ve been won forever,

For years now, I’ve been awaiting an invader,

One that could pay for me with death,

Not fought for any more, now bored immortal, my lustre,

I miss the golden past when life equalled my worth,

Beauty sought action, sparked that fatal desire,

Win me again, make me yours, shed some blood for me,

Let me adorn your land for you,

The Moon shall wear a veil, sons of the Sun shall drool,

I’m bored a display for the timid on a British tour,

I await my knight, another conquest of valour,

I’m the Koh-i-Noor…

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Debaroon’2013

The Koh-i-Noor, (Persian, “Mountain of Lights”), is a 105.6 metric carats diamond, weighing 21.6 grammes in the most recent cut state, and once the largest known diamond. The diamond has belonged to many dynasties and finally, the British.

In 1850, the diamond became part of the British treasury and then, of the British Crown Jewels when Queen Victoria was proclaimed Empress of India in 1877. The diamond is currently set into the Crown of Queen Elizabeth and is on display at the Tower of London.

For more:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koh-i-Noor

For a chronological  flashback in history:

http://purpletab.com/blog/history-and-origin-of-kohinoor-diamond/

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://www.cs.hmc.edu

http://geniusart.ru

The Postman

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Cycling crooked on cobbled ways,

Jingling metal, tinkling bells to another May,

Buttoned in uniform, the postman rides away,

Through coughing houses, withering crude,

The wailing Mistress of Longing, “Wait, take us too”,

Through old aberrant grills,

Locked in greenhouses of mediocrity,

Combed and robed into a stranger with the happy look,

Desire’s young labour plead freedom true,

Glimpses of shadows drooping out of the balcony,

Spitting out rusty lessons, throwing up sanity,

Postures on windows, miniatures once, then magnified,

One by one, they all disappeared for their seeds to re-appear,

Only altered the tone, rang the same wails,

Familiarly helpless beamed through grills old, stares new,

His spectacles caught passing reflections all,

For messages unstamped, he could never spare moments few,

He’d kept himself busy, chose to breathe important all the while,

Probably, he’d always known he would soon run out of time,

Till this day, he has served focused blind,

Could divert him none, could distract him none,

When the witch cried, he’d never looked back,

He made it alive to the gallows of Innovation,

Now, at his ceremony of Extinction,

He stands broad-shouldered, proud and firm,

Done with flashing his dutiful spine,

Lands a wreath on the grave of the Telegram,

Kindles lamps of a billion memories, nationwide,

Bows in front of the evergreen Goddess of Change,

Then, wears his golden swim suit, holds on to his pulse,

Ready for the plunge into the quicksand of history,

Into those blue waves of time, he leaps out of sight…

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Debaroon’2013

(This post is dedicated to the dying postal service in India.  The 163 year-old telegram services permanently closed down on the night of July 14, 2013. For more, visit: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/163-year-old-telegram-service-to-close-forever-at-9pm-today/articleshow/21067075.cms)

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://hdrcreme.com/photos/7150-Kolkata-Alley

http://www.flickr.com/photos/s_w_ellis/4161322283/

Reader’s Love 7

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She serves till I’m full,

When overflows my pessimistic pool,

For an optimistic burger, when I’m hungry,

I find here there, in her words that soothing cool,

I’m privileged to gorge on her sumptuous servings of positivity,

When dies that immaculateness in faces around,

I take to her verses, where romances me Nature,

Drifts me away originality,

Into a world more pristine than round

Miles away from those pangs of material stature,

To dip in her solace green,

To catch glimpse of the beauty around us, preserved unseen,

You’ve to read her for from my words you cannot measure,

That contentment you’ll derive from this poet’s treasure,

Listen up mates, writers and poets,

From the right and left wings of this globe,

From the oil towns of UAE, the castles and cafes of Europe,

From the blocks of Vegas, the painted streets of Australia,

You can’t miss out on her work,

Her name’s Soumya (http://soumyav.wordpress.com)

 

Thank You Soumya (http://soumyav.wordpress.com/about/) for showering so many awards upon MyLores.com.

Comfort through your words and your relentless support through your comments and awards continue to inspire and motivate.

—————————————————————

More Awards for MyLores.com

  1. The Most Creative Blogger Award
  2. The Loyal Reader Award
  3. Best Moment Award
  4. ABC (Awesome Blog Content) Award

 awesome-blog-content-awardthe-most-creative-blogger-award2-from-deo best-moments loyal-reader-award

Feels Great! Honoured!

 

Thank You Soumya (http://en.gravatar.com/soumyav),

Thank You Friends, Readers and Fellow Bloggers

 

God Bless

Debaroon 🙂

 

 

Image from : https://soundcloud.com/soumyav

Special Powers to Murder?

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Safeguarding our crown was their responsibility,

Long back, when that paradise was losing out on peace and stability,

Years after that bloody decade,

When the valley gears up healthy,

Yearns to lick tourism and trade,

Craves attention, gears up to resurrect wealthy,

How did uniformed hatred never grey?

How many more young corpses will grant them content?

Or, does it take one to feast on sacks of religious contempt,

Or, grow brainwashed blind into monsters, death-hungry,

To join this faction of the Army?

Do you hear that lull? Do you hear that guilty silence?

Crouched they sit, count moments for another sin to age,

Consumed is the nation, the youth is diverted dead,

Let the heat sway away, the news grow old, they’ll soon forget,

At times I gaze startled at the brilliance of this government machinery,

Tactful and wise, under curtains of the largest democracy,

Ethnic cleansing wages rampant,

Sanctioned green, invisible behind myths of our secular skin,

Secured and shielded to raze a limping J&K*,

Have you heard of a country where no terror strikes?

Does that mean an entire community and its youth will have to perpetually pay a price?

Unheard flies the mother’s wail,

Here to stay, those black clouds of an obsolete AFSPA*…

Debaroon’2013

 

Based upon the headlines “Protest erupts in J&K after 2 civilians killed in firing”-  The Indian Express.

(http://www.indianexpress.com/news/protest-erupts-in-j-k-after-2-civilians-killed-in-firing/1136081/

http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2013-02-23/india/37256692_1_return-of-guru-body-anantnag-and-kulgam-curfew) – Protests erupted in Kashmir after the Army allegedly shot dead two civilians in Bandipore district on Sunday morning. The police have registered a murder case against 13 Rashtriya Rifles (RR) of the Army. Though the Army said it will probe the killings, the J&K government said there is “nothing to investigate”

– The Indian Express

 

*AFSPA– The Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA), was passed on September 11, 1958, by the Parliament of India. It grants special powers to the armed forces in what the act terms as “disturbed areas” in the states of Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland and Tripura. It was later extended to Jammu and Kashmir as The Armed Forces (Jammu and Kashmir) Special Powers Act, 1990 in July 1990.

For more on the act, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armed_Forces_(Special_Powers)_Act,_1958

 

*J&K– Jammu and Kashmir, the northernmost state of India.

 

 

 

Image Credits : http://www.movieballa.com