how we hug

 

he hugs me with a gap of two and a half meters,
as if to keep us both from hurting each other —
the slight embrace becomes a star-filled cleft
where we have shared eggshell dreams & thick-
hard seeds of pain, that have seen many trees
shed their leaves in the last(first) circuitous seal
of the earth in an all-evasive-expanding space.

she hugs me in a sudden jerk of the arms that
connect in prompt patterns, overcompensating
for the years we did not care to know the other —
this proximate touch is a meteor hurtling towards
the ground but disintegrating on the way, we have
held those sweaty hands as an adhesive for our
obvious choice to find peace in this orb-like space.

i have hugged them with a mark of disobedience
towards the yields of my isolation, with a rigorous
demand to perform the proverbial need for human-
connection, as if an entanglement of network-wires,
i have figured out that the way to my consolation
&satisfaction is to suggest&seek all i desire, to know
sums of my matter, the auguries of my life-space.

.
© Anmol Arora

Day 26
(Inter)National Poetry Month

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after sunset

the single lamp glowers
like a stray dog caught in dishonour —

smoke rises from the lips of a cracked
sky, engines backfire, our staccato breaths
hold our words near, by each other’s side,

as we reflect over the absolute need
to be detached from people, from every-
thing, like the smile of a wicked flower
that is about to fall to pieces —

our tea turns colder by the minute,
our talks do not have the urgency of life,
we are sailing our friend-ship without
its anchor, uprooting planks and prod-
ding needs and exchanges, required
of us — the emotional labour doesn’t
have an eight-hour ending period
of a working (not for me) day,

so we slurp, &gulp down the remains of it
from our vessels — all the words strewn
between us like aimless ash of a charred sun.

.
© Anmol Arora

Day 25
(Inter)National Poetry Month

Battered by my belief, I am whole alone

to get a glimpse of attraction,

that fickle-minded monster that

makes the days miserable, wants

to have a piece of congenial love,

how pitiful is the plight of heart

that gets scorched in the sun of

ignorance, how wretched am I

to try to take things from time

which is not mine, never was

a friend(or not) yesterday evoked me

with words such that substantiates

things I had taken not into account

“A, we always leave you alone and

you do not mind”, I am battered, lost

by the treachery of my belief, my will

to breathe the winds of the company

but tis’ not in my fates, I am frugal, whole

the way I am: plain, sane, full of disdain

.

Image source

We all were dead… Now we begin to breathe

I am climbing a wall, bricks jutting out

to be my ladder to reach atop and sit there

wait for the hollering to begin,

I’ve missed it for so long,

.

they look at me and say that some one shrunk me

while I was veiled by ignorance, both theirs and mine,

and yet it is today when I show a fragment of insanity

and present it to them so that they can cut it and have a piece

.

of my present, my past is a poster pasted deep within

my skin, them being not a part, but now I want them

to give me a finger and make me a defense of sun rays,

I’ve already had too much of night, but it will linger

and I am okay with that… only if there is a voice now

to call me back when I get entranced and webbed in

locks of the seductress- milady of midnight

.

For Poetry Jam, where we remember our friends and write our verse keeping them in mind. You may find this piece a little dark but there is a light side to it as well. Relationships such as friendship are dynamic in their propensity, their value and their exhibition.

Image source: Dark To Light Painting by Melissa LeRay

Matargashti

up

up

up

round

round                        round

round

goes the ferris wheel round,

round, round, round

                bounce,                bounce,

bounce,                 bounce,

many many rides for you to bounce,

.

and thankfully, there is a crude

rod to keep us from flying around,

to keep a hold of us as we hoot,

shout, make fun of the other

behind the back and upfront

because it doesn’t matter

when you all are a little mad

and become a child, when you

arrive at the rocky ground

(hidden overall by green carpets)

and encompass in you the spirit

that shines through your eyes,

when the city fair comes oblige

you with the memories, and you

live them again, one last time

every time

.

I have had the opportunity to go for such “matargashti” only rarely. Its been about 4 years since the last time I went and enjoyed. I even mentioned it in a poem from November, All these ordinary days and this was the particular stanza:

and how to forget, the excursion to the city fair,

my reluctance, to climb onto the Ferris wheel,

all of those who accompanied me went, while

I waved to them, some had closed their eyes,

panicked, but still going on for the ride, and

the way I shivered in my bones and smiled-

.

Now we are all dispersed here and there lacking contact. I am trying to revive the communication with some of them because friends are important and you realize that only after:

  • you shoo them away
  • they ignore you
  • misunderstanding happens
  • you realize that you were never friends

And I want to realize that you are all my friends. So come on, talk to me so that I can add your name in my secret list. 😀

Matargashti: I don’t know a definite word in English to go with it. I tried searching out but I guess, it is one of those words which can not be definitely translated to English. Its meaning would be along the lines of being naughty(childish/kiddish), having fun and not doing anything of consequence.

I am linking it up with Poetry Jam, where the prompt focuses on festivities, fairs and exhibitions this week.

And tell me about your matargashtis? Or your experiences when you went to a fair or a carnival?

Empty streets

she was a fine friend,

I barely know her today,

IMed- “I will give you a call”-

certainly I will, to hear her tirade,

though it will be different this time,

she is shifting to yet another city,

like she left this one behind,

our camaraderie stranded,

in the streets empty,

bereft of her smile

.

I haven’t been able to write much lately. The weather, the mood and the whole mental and emotional situation along with laziness adversely affected my creative juices. And I have been very much absent from the blog as well.

The prompt today at dVerse is to write a 55 word poem and that is it.

The One Who Stands Alone

Sometimes it becomes difficult for me

to know who can be a friend and who can’t be one

I thought I succeeded in making some of them

but ended up knowing I was still alone, outcasted

for the reason, that I don’t know.

I remember I have always been an outcast-

a distinct personality, a leader in himself

with neither followers nor supporters,

the person who always stood alone, that is me

Is it good for me or not to be like this,

that I don’t know but what I know is that

I won’t mind standing alone in the crowd

but I would never lose self-respect,

never will I become your tail-

I will always stand for what I find right-

friends or not, even if the courtesy of

acknowledgment you take away

from me, I won’t mind

standing alone because that is who I am-

the outcasted one, the one who stands alone.