Was Under Repairs- The Verse Factory

Image

Apathy stains wore its equipment,

Corrosion from gales of compromise had it dysfunctional,

Cylinders of creative lubricant dangled empty,

Staggering under debts of the womb,

Worst fears of its crafty artisans turned true,

None could make it to work,

For needles of mediocrity were scattered bare,

Flooding roads of my town, pointed everywhere,

With lamed logistics, a hungry nation to scare,

A stagnant fleet of trucks, dusty with lethal punctures,

Maintenance craved every inch of its infrastructure,

Servicing had been the need of the hour,

Engineers blocked the exit, while to mend forced in entry,

Barred the ailing entrepreneur from notifying,

“Under Repairs – The Verse Factory…”

Debaroon’013

(Sincere and Heartfelt Apologies to all my beloved and precious readers for being away…

For this pothead, rehabilitation was the surprise gift of this kind society.

With my return, awaits you some white-eyed poetry…

 

 

Image credits: http://pretoria.olx.co.za )

Advertisements

Words of Clay – “Gardener of Beauty”

Image

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

We’ll lose the Magician

Image

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’

Image

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

Dragon’s Inn

Image

Welcome to the Dragon’s Inn,

Standing shady, luring sins,

A villainous desire draws you in,

A dip into comfort lethally seductive,

Your surrender to a deeper sink seems compulsive,

Into those dingy lanes, you’ve to report,

And, then time’s lost gazing the Red Fort,

Every morning, you try stroking out brave,

Departure is then only what you crave,

You beg futile to step out clean,

Now, out of your hands, life’s quietly slipping out, unseen,

Will devour you slow, scrub out all your sheen,

The ‘HI’ is yours, while the ‘GOODBYE’ is his,

There’s no looking back now,

Once in the grip of Delhi’s Djinn,

You gotta pay up for your share of Bliss…

Debaroon’2013

(As felt by an outstanding student of the Liberal Arts from a Prestigious American University.

A step into the Dragon’s Inn and now Delhi’s Djinn has her. She resides on the streets of Paharganj Delhi, selling herself to almost anyone and everyone, for a mere Fix.)

 

 

 

Image Credit : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hCVjreYp1E

Personal Diaries- ‘Dancing Sane’

Image

Something you seldom  get to see,                        

A sober responsible me,

Saving my ass, voicing righteous,

The ‘should n’ should-nots’ in chorus,

But every second summons me myself,

Lures me pathways to perdition,

Roadways to beautiful destruction,

Someday I’ll be done with debts to the seed that bore me,

Sharpen my ears and sniff my way into the woods,

Towards those faintly audible chants of poetry,

For the dragon within roars enraged imprisoned,

Scratches my walls of flesh, spits fire, burns me, bleeds me,

I hear loud ceaseless screams, “Your only morphine is Enlightenment,

The rest isn’t for you to gain,

You dance Sane, you earn Pain,

On soils richly aesthetic,

Stands your warehouse of verses for the world to cherish,

Don’t leap for all that isn’t meant for you,

You’re only a devil born to create and perish,

Your pretense shall soon fail, towards the End,

A Hungry Creator shall scurry naked again…”

Debaroon’2013

 

Image Credit : http://lightworkers.org

Personal Diaries- ‘STRANGER’

Image

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

The Postman

Image

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…

Image

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/

Monsoon Afresh !!!

Image

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…

869f6443-8255-4752-95a8-06a0f40755e0HiRes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Debaroon’2013

 

 

 

Image Credits :

http://neerzphotography.blogspot.in/

http://www.hindustantimes.com

“The Verdict of Peace” – A Monologue in Verse

Image

A gathering in Jupiter, where present are the supreme Gods and Goddesses of each and every religion that thrives on Earth.

Objective: To end all religious wars, once and for all.

The gathering is headed by Jupiter, the Greek god of the ancient and presently, obsolete Roman State religion.

The seemingly seamless panel of Jury consists of spirits of each and every dead poet and writer from planet Earth.

Seated high on a frozen hydro-rock, manliness draped in unstitched silk, helium eagle by his side,

 

The chiseled Greek God speaks,

“Divine Handlers are you all here?

My religion is forgotten, dead are ones it had begotten,

So from this throne I shall speak unbiased,

Today, we’ll spit wars futile,

Harmony shall be the only necessity,

We’ll put an end to all this hostility,

No matter how claustrophobic your spawns might have to survive,

Today we’ll punish you with Peace and you’ll humbly oblige…

 Lord Buddha! Are you there?

Are you visiting Earth regularly?

How are some of your children acting that vicious and wild?

The jury has some orders for you,

Rush back to Myanmar; control the crisis in faith,

Preach afresh, do whatever it takes, do it now,

We can no more wait…

 

Now, to all my Lords, pay some attention,

Put me through your speakers in every sky on Earth,

One religion, one country,

Is that what you want? So Be It,

We’ll have the oceans help you have it easy,

In the silent of the night,

It will intelligently partition lands, like wide streams flow in between,

Into smaller fragments, all the land on Earth, we’ll divide,

One country shall feed on only one religion,

No permanent passports for one to forever breathe foreign,

Your land is yours, mine’s mine,

Produce and reproduce till your land can hold heads by,

Immigration and emigration shall be terms forgotten,

Stir your souls in your own soup,

And, then flush it out with your morning poop,

Erase all your country names creative,

Erase that fake secular smile,

Dull Nations, suits you humans, actors locked in their roles of sanity,

From this day, your countries will be listed this way,

Islam 1, Islam 2, Islam 3…,

.

.

.

.

Buddhism 1, Buddhism 2, Buddhism 3,…

.

.

.

.

.

Christianity 1, Christianity 2… to infinity.”

 

Heads low in shame, swearing within to implement and sustain, depart the Gods and Goddesses.

Discussions jostle in the jury

While, Jupiter gets busy sketching brand new triggers of fury…

CURTAINS

Debaroon’2013

( An enraged reaction to the recent bombings in India at Bodh Gaya, the seat of Lord Buddha’s enlightenment, caused in retaliation to the saddening plight of Muslims in Myanmar at the mercy of a Buddhist majority.)

“Terror strikes Bodh Gaya, serial blasts rock Mahabodhi Temple”

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow1/20953906.cms

“Plight of Muslims in Myanmar”

http://www.kashmirmonitor.in/news-plight-of-muslims-in-myanmar-50419.aspx )

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://nssdc.gsfc.nasa.gov,

http://en.wikipedia.org