Personal Diaries – ‘Wins the Hare’

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Hungry flowers are blooming everywhere,

Blind seedlings are mushrooming here and there,

Hues of helplessness are painting this part of the sphere,

The superior has little voice,

Starving secured on deeds right,

In its shell, awaiting the moment like the tortoise,

Sky high waves of ignorance are abundant in sight

Lashing dry sands of simplicity, wet,

Pace-less on highways, a peekaboo has it trembling in fear,

While, the inferior toils swift in sweat,

Wide-eyed it shines above ones, near and dear,

Empty sacks of wisdom are concealed crystal clear,

Hips and hops, some smart talks, hollow confidence dear,

Fake it to survive, knows the sharp-eared Hare…

Debaroon’2013

 

 

Image Credit: http://fineartamerica.com/

SinRains

DE11_PG2_4-COL_LIG_1050209g

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sky screamed Sunless,

Broke loose crashed, gone unbearable,

Seeds of her follies, her tangles under the table,

Her moments with June – moist stress,

In howls, her man summoned menace,

Ravaged the land then, children of Eros,

Danced casanova, those faithless droplets,

Washed away, into the drain gurgled down her character,

Weighed down, impossible another slithery escape,

Cries unattended, septic now this disaster,

She bears his lashes silent, he scorns aloud in pain,

Panting a wet blue to a dim gray disdain,

Trickles to the ground, love’s last button,

She is running out of her sailing cotton,

Panic-stricken, slipping out naked, her disgrace…

Debaroon’2013

 

 

 

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

Happy Independence Day!

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Back then, the brute was blunt,
Antagonism was far more proclaimed,
The villain had the balls to spit enmity,
In public, throw up stinky contempt,
Shone our target, we knew where exactly to head,
Fouled us for no cards red, had us boil in a soup of rage,
The hungry was taught sour lessons of dignity, self-respect,
Swords, cannons, then bombs of dissent,
We bought him down by the neck, sought was Independence,
But, it was retribution for all the pain back then,
Now, the enemy is far more sly,
Unseen it lingers close by,
Having applied that lotion of technology, it awaits in disguise,
To strike from behind hedges of pretense…

Debaroon’2013

(India celebrates its 66th Independence Day…)

 

 

Image credits: http://24by7news.com

Joker’s Treat!

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Life strolled naked,

Her hour yellow had arrived,

Her luck for the joker’s red smile,

Pity Taps gone dry yet another try,

Dirty rags forgotten,

Forgotten unwashed stained flesh,

Kissed that glass wall,

Rubbed on it some unfortunate stare,

Shooed her away her reality of the day,

Disposed now on tar to decay,

Filth today another hungry rainy day,

Behind that glass a doughnut someday,

The Joker’s treat, a flickering dream from the street,

Untamable ignited barked her desire…

Debaroon’2013

(On a young ill-clad girl, thriving on the streets of Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. She visits McDonald’s everyday before it opens up for customers to try her luck at mellowing down that service boy for something that may be could cost him his job, to hand her out only one and one of that stuff on that big poster, a chocolate doughnut.)

 

Image Credit:

http://www.gnomeplanet.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

Sharp a Contrast!

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Save us from the wrath of the day,

In shorts with folded hands,

Bowing our heads to the Goddess, we used to say,

Our class queues ascended in that assembly,

From shorts to trousers, cardigans to blazers we grew gradually,

The Poet now ran in our veins, Tagore rang in our ears,

His verses stood against time,

A part and parcel of our morning prayers,

Our pledge for life to fulfil His dreams,

Where men would radiate parity beams,

No matter how fair ripened their cream,

They’d to work on only themselves, individually,

Each drop should contribute to an ocean someday,

An ocean of voices, thoughts and actions for equality,

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Ten years down the line,

Now a stranger to that school,

Caught up in tougher currents of life,

I was coming down from a relative’s birthday party,

Stopped to pick up fags on my way, three hours to midnight,

A vegetable seller was getting home, back from his day’s work,

His only helper, his seven year old kid walked beside,

Adolescent eyes to the shop shone, ran the kid towards me,

There was something that he wanted to buy,

“Biscuits, I need them Dad”, he screamed back,

A big smile on his face, forgotten the day’s hard work,

Two local bakery biscuits, he’d won it all it seemed,

Biting into it slowly he walked ahead, elated in leaps,

“It’s already dinner time,” cribbing, his father followed,

The birthday that I’d just attended, seven turned a six year old,

She almost wrecked havoc in that decorated venue,

Her parents had brought her a new Samsung tablet phone,

Unhappy she growled at them,

“You know what I wanted a Sony Xperia Z,

Now I can’t even think of snaps marine.

Clicking those fishes with my hands dipped in that aquarium,

How will I click underwater while I swim with my pals?”

I overheard, switched into a state of shock,

Quickly recollected my naked little analogue years,

Pinched myself back to reality to find her sitting gloomy,

Her mom was away to change the handset,

The party continued, but I ate and left,

Saved myself of the predictable drama in store ahead,

And here I was, igniting both the fag and the engine, stray dogs bark,

The vegetable seller, his kid and cart fade away in the dark,

I sigh in wonder, “how sharp can be that contrast!”

Missed Tagore, his innocent world with light for all,

I drove away with our pledge, the Poet’s dream gargling on my mind…

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Debaroon’2013

 

 

 

 

Image Credits:

http://mpbfhsschool.com/

https://www.facebook.com/childllabour2012

http://lazy-lizard-tales.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

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/