We’ll lose the Magician

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Lies dusty his crown,

Locked tidy in his closet, his golden gown,

The sorcerer is withering away, simple logic,

Assign a magician, tasks that require no magic,

Then, watch him self-destruct,

For there simply can be nothing more tragic,

Sans, the stage, the jeering crowd,

The wide-mouthed claps, hoots and the cheers,

Life slowly blurs in the rear,

The end’s then too hard to resist,

Sheer futility devours his fear,

For a final glimpse, he draws life’s bowl near,

Finds dried up and gone are those last drops of purpose,

No miracles in store, he re-assured clear,

Empty white shines porcelain,

Now he knows, he’s breathing in vain,

Untraceable now, his prime reason to exist…

Debaroon’2013

 

 

Image Credit : http://www.tripadvisor.com

Personal Diaries – ‘Evanescent Senses’

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My senses are pampered they say,

Or, maybe they label it that way,

Yes, they’ve been loyal slaves to the harsh Mistress of Aesthetics,

While, Mediocrity’s soothing Inamorata has been forever at bay,

Towards risky pathways to fame,

They disobediently sway,

Sucked in deep and deeper into quicksands of creativity,

That’s how they would perpetually want to stay,

Couldn’t tame them my deadliest reality,

From lush green lawns of mechanical apathy, and,

Fertilized with compromise, greener pastures,

They’ve always craved the quickest goodbyes,

Lightning departures…

Debaroon’2013

 

 

Image Credit: http://u0s7al00.deviantart.com

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

Personal Diaries- ‘STRANGER’

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This isn’t my world,
I’m naive to its ways,
Born out of place,
In another age,
I’m a natural misfit,
Meant to quickly fade away,
My mind and its sways won’t let me survive,
But there should not remain any sad vibes,
Coz maybe when i wink again with new baby cries,
I mite just turn out into the right seed in the right soil…

Debaroon’2013

 

Image Credits :

http://coolvibe.com

You can have him, Mom!

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Mom and Dad

Sunlight caught the air nude,

Unravelled blemishes in it,

Dust and exhaust beamed in dots,

The night’s gone for good,

Pages of Sin turned over,

There was nothing that I would want to remember,

Except that dad was relaxed and satisfied,

Though I know mom must have been robbed of sleep,

Rolling restless, deprived and hungry, till late she must have cried,

Tells me that frown of strain amidst her closed eyes,

I hate to see her crave in despair,

I hate being her glossy alternative at home,

I hate to distract her man’s desire,

My time’s up , I’m well aware,

Mom, when you contaminate my food today,

Add a dash of poison,

I will grow grey, sick and dull, then quietly pass away,

An ailing end is what father would see and know,

Erase your man’s option mom, you know he loves it more,

Just keep my dad in spirits,

Light his flickering fire, now shall be starved of my youth,

Don’t have me sick and moan beside,

For pangs of your man’s lust slash me all the time,

Be there for each other in every clime,

Have me in your cherished frames from the past,

Let me sink into that big sleep divine…

Debaroon’2013

(Voice of a Bangladeshi 15 year old girl, Orola, victim of a three-way marital arrangement.

Her father started sleeping with her by the time she was 15 for he preferred her over her mother. This is a fact that rendered her mother hurt and deprived to an extent that she started mixing wild herbs in her food to spoil her health for a few days, only for her chance to sleep with her husband, her love.

Inspired from the marieclaire article, “My Mom And I Share The Same Husband

http://www.marieclaire.com/world-reports/news/mom-daughter-same-husband-2)

 

 

Image from :

http://www.marieclaire.com

Monsoon Afresh !!!

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That gush and gurgle in the drain,

From charcoal skies down pours the rain,

Rolls the city on a day lit by lamps,

Streets washed, then a dirty revamp,

As if straight out of a swamp,

An odor of moist grass and fresh filth looms in the air,

Unchanged is that breeze slow, heavy with craving, luring wet,

Thunder growls, moments of hush whispers,

Fierce gales kissing cool, then windless lulls,

Mirth and anger of the drenched atmosphere,

To breathe back, you aren’t here,

It must be a virgin monsoon for you out there,

For mine’s grown more lush and green,

Now more pungent is the odor, banished serene,

Droplets touch, smooch and dry away,

There’s no more a celebration, or that reason,

Will this be the end to monsoon afresh?

Juicy cloud bursts can taste dry no more,

Soon the heavens shall be sending me a new sufferer,

To walk along the dark roads in the drizzle, out of your prism…

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Debaroon’2013

 

 

 

Image Credits :

http://neerzphotography.blogspot.in/

http://www.hindustantimes.com

Ave Maria

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Shot her reflections divine,

Shone glass from the Church’s spine,

Amidst jeers, tears and cheers,

Past cries from an innocent rewind,

From those meadows, wails of the sheep and the swine,

Treads ahead the nervous bride,

Petals rain from all sides,

Fate has her trampling them,

No matter to save some,

How hard she did try,

Triggers and barrels guard her walk,

Lead bursts in skies above,

For a life in arms of the barter of death,

A drop of love in that ocean red,

Her surrender to the Holy Cross,

On the altar awaits her share of sin-gloss,

Her skirt’s cathedral train rubs away the ground’s pain,

She drags it across the aisle, suppressing frowns,

When against lovelorn lips of the groom,

Shy, her sight sweeps down,

Scared, she freaks out, a blemished start,

On her kismet, bull’s eye scores the poisonous dart,

Her wedding gown was already wearing a blood stain…

Debaroon’2013

 

(From the wedding party of the son of one of Colombia’s most feared and wealthy drug lords. Visualized on and inspired from Franz Schubert’s famous Opera composition, ‘Ave Maria’. For the musical piece, visit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bosouX_d8Y

The Ave Maria (Latin) (Hail Mary) is a traditional Catholic prayer asking for the intercession of the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus. For more, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ave_Maria)

 

 

Image Credit :http://www.bloominglovelyweddings.com.au/wedding-church.html

On Lungs of Desire…

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Shut are eyelids of that ocean of consent,

Awaits the end of those hours black, restless to rise,

Throbs in her depths that urge to blink turquoise,

Boycotted winds blow in strong from the East and the West,

Meet secret, kiss aloud, sands whirl celebrate,

Willfully surrenders quiet that beach at rest,

Footprints of two misfits alight, spot closer to merge,

Then, from both ends of that seamless expanse they converge ,

His drums roll to thuds of her anklets, desire glows red at dance,

While snores their stubborn nemesis to a short-lived trance,

That society under the moist blanket of their city,

Passion rages unbound, in pricked junk spotted arms of that musician,

Clung to his heart feeble and tender,

Blooms the dancer’s wish to set free from behind inescapable bars of gender,

Dreams of acceptance are dreamt, but varies the pace of their fulfillment,

When ready for an unnatural change, for its dripping sour melody,

The dancer switches to medical magic, secretly,

To distort the only definite, the only truth, the human body,

When eyes in the hospital beam to a strange light,

They open up to that junkie, now rehabilitated with a smile,

Gone his rags, now dressed bright and clean,

With his newlywed wife by his side, someone a woman, naturally,

Some vision more pain,

Eyelashes droop again,

A tear stream wedges down curves of the dancer’s cheek,

Cancelled is the vagina transplantation,

Undone shall be the breast plantation,

The ball from the past was a feast for a strange temptation,

Love survived only on unapproved and wishful pumping lungs of desire,

Tides of acceptance hit the beach,

The homogenous voice of the mass in reach,

A welcome with arms wide spread, as it its reception,

The speed freak’s footprint was washed away by that ocean ,

While that of the dancer gazed lonely at the moon, longed another misfit,

Sank deeper, licked deeper salts of exclusion,

That last footprint grew into a Pit…

Debaroon’2013

 

(Inspired from the Bengali film, ‘Chitrangada’ by the late filmmaker, Rituparno Ghosh, one of the most talented directors from the country with 12 National Awards in her kitty.

Chitrangada: The Crowning Wish is a 2012 Bengali-language film written and directed by Rituparno Ghosh. The film premiered on 25 May 2012 at the New York Indian Film Festival. The movie deals with the topics of homosexuality, gender identity and the freedom to choose one’s role in a deeply heteronormative and conformist society.

For more on the movie: http://cliched-monologues.blogspot.in/2013/03/chitrangada-crowning-wish-2012.html)

 

 

Image Credits: http://rhondabuss.blogspot.com

A Hundred Holes

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It took Alice a lot of luck,

To roam Wonderland till dusk,

To get past the rubble of hurdles,

Catch sight of that golden cradle,

Awaiting her in a room feared by rats and moles,

One adorned with a polished stump and olives on its mouth,

A room that one could walk into, but never come out,

A room with a hundred holes,

Barring the ceiling and the floor,

A hundred holes on its walls four,

To let in hundred rays of the Sun,

Every morning from the ceiling flashed a new handsome face,

Calling her to ride his masculine slide, make love at a swift pace,

A helpless Alice was deprived of the youthful fun,

Her privacy robbed by those hundred holes,

On that strange and primitive land of magic, eyes were always on a roll,

She couldn’t even get hold of a monstrous piece of fabric to curtain bold,

Where would she go? Where were the shops? Where were they sold?

So, she started blocking those holes with mud and clay,

A hole a night to start with, then four each day,

Soon, a wall was covered, yet she couldn’t fling out her lusty invite,

Scared of wizards, cooking up sorcery stews nearby,

So, ten holes a day, a little more labour took her to twenty,

Left was a dark and a gloomy space, now dim was the light, once in plenty,

Three rays shot into that room through the last three holes left,

Alice could feel a killing suffocation, herself out of breath,

Desire took a steeper turn that dawn,

From the ceiling, smiled Mr. Mojo, Sylvester Stallone,

She could dine with the beast for that masculine feast,

Impatient, she filled up all the holes in a lot of hurry,

To a Breathless end, only to sob her slipping moments of slavery,

Till she bloomed human in another life,

All over again seasoned into a sharper knife,

Grew young and wise into an attractive bait,

Her lust will have to wait…

Debaroon’2013

 

 

 

Image from: http://www.cepolina.com

Indigo Depths

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Into indigo depths of that calm ocean,

Let us sink in for our eternal promotion,

Can you hear that breathless still?

Bubbles in your ears, out of your nostrils?

We’ll paddle into that swaying forest, perpetually moist,

The fate of those scrubs and bushes born drowned,

We’ll kiss them wet, celebrate their fate, pluck some for our crowns,

Ball to mute motions of the prey and the hunter,

Adorn ourselves with forgotten treasures from sunk  plunder,

In tight embrace, we shall greet dolphins and whales,

Will turn down their pleads to come along,

Snort some air from the surface,

We’ll rather, butterfly deeper to the creeks on the bed,

Scare away the snobbish Electric Eel, conquer his hide-out,

Let us then suck each other off our last ounces of breath,

Lips on lips, closing eyes, the end’s switched on,

The mermaid’s harp, you can hear aloud, shall slowly faint,

Our beginning we never could paint,

But, the end is ours; we’ll design it our way,

Our resurrection shall engrave our love immortal,

Our passion shall have the shark stop for an impractical ogle,

Now foams our vision, our senses are in a lather,

We are bunking His test,

We’re skipping His mandate,

Scrubbing off our skin, bar-codes of His conquest,

To dissolve our naked clutch  into the water’s beauty,

Our stripped  souls into its blue patented liberty,

Let us  switch off for the best…

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Debaroon’2013

(May our Souls rest in Peace in Embrace…Amen!)

 

 

 

Image from :  http://www.hotelclub.com/http://www.sammiseahorse.com/