MY OWN LAND OF ‘LUIT’

In a partly shadowy shade, under the banyan

A banyan very old, aged through the ages,

A shade swept clean by the breeze

Old and familiar

In my own land,the land of Luit,

I dream myself sitting.

Even in loneliness, there's a sweetness

Even in aching days, there's an ache

that passes not through my head

In my own land, the land of Luit.

Days there are lively, with the sun's smile,

zephyr's whisper, kisses of the rain

and butterflies

Dawns there are brightly hued

purple and pink,crimson and blue.

Nights though dark, are darkened quietly

With serenity in the ambiance,

Sweet sleep accompanying the fairy of dreams

Dusk there come with glowworms

Clouds painted purple and pink,

crimson and blue, with love !

This is my land,the land of Luit

I still dream myself sitting

Under the age old banyan

guiding me with it s roots,

sheltering me in its shade,

As i sing songs, write poetry

p.s -Luit is the local name of river Brahmaputra in Assam

I, SUNSET AND MY SOULMATE

Along the beach, at twilight

We walk hand in hand,

As saltwater wash our feet

The seagulls fly above

The azure sky spreads its hues

The reddish sun waves “Goodbye”,

And our footprints remain for a while

Until waves pass by.

We walk hand in hand

In this elegant sunset

To make sweet moments

Of a quiet youth

For me and my soulmate.

CURSED NOSTALGIA II

                                                                                 Trust

                                                                                It was betrayed a few times.

                                                                              Yet, compatibility brought us together.

Understanding

 It flickered.

Like a candle-flame in a windy night.

Yet, happiness brought us closer.

Characters

We were different

Yet, similarities made us friends.

It was a time, a time of joy,

Cooking and eating together,

Listening and singing songs,

Laughing and spending happy moments

And ‘sharing secrets’.

                                                                                Those were the days

                                                                                 When we called each other ‘friends’.

                                                                                   But dark clouds in the heaven

                                                                                   Brought a heavy storm

                                                                                    Hailstorms!

                                                                                 Today, when I look back

                                                                                I can only see

                                                                               A cursed afternoon

                                                                                of violence and tears.

                                                                              A friend existed yesterday,

                                                                               Not today, and not for ever.

CURSED NOSTALGIA I

    “Fly above, far away”

This part of the
dark red corner

  Preserved in my heart.

                                                                         
  Safely settled, it brought
a few happy memories,
  a few sad moments.

                                                                               
 I paint those red roses

 in that corner, white.

And repaint them, black.

Opaque, this corner

Is deemed to be.
 My soul’s light,

  Never to pass through.

    I look behind

      And all I see now, is

      A cursed night of betrayal.

    “Fly above, far away”

    I say, to this little part of
 the soft corner

    preserved in my heart.

I WANDER AMONGST WONDERLANDS

Little I am, in my heart of hearts, I believe so. And my mind, it wanders amongst the myriad lands, spanning both dreams and reality. Unlike my grown-up thoughts, my dreams revolve around in the fantasy lands, be it being Alice while in Wonderland or Finding Neverland wherein we didn't have to grow up. I too have dreamt numerous times of trips to those enchanted places, and that's why I still feel rejuvenated seeing those fantasy movies. Amy Adam’s ‘Enchanted’ and Anne Hathaway’s ‘Ella Enchanted’ are also fairytale movies that gave me the same gratification. Sometimes I wonder if a trip to Disneyland can fulfill my dreams or cure me of few horrid nightmares, but each time I end up realizing that it cannot be so. Maybe I should really give my dreams a few wings, fly perhaps to Disneyland and find if its really so. Until then, I must content my heart by penning down whatever I feel.

For a twenty year old damsel from a small town trying to adjust to the demands of the metro lifestyle, while juggling between sincere pursuance of education and love, life's tough. Life in an alien land, where people are more concerned about their looks and clothes rather than their thoughts and emotions, where malls and plastic smiles abound, I feel suffocated. At times like this, my heart reaches out to those beautiful places in the movies I see or books I read while cosying up in my bed and I relish them in reverie.

Ah! Hope I'm not turning into a lunatic. Sometimes I wonder what if I never actually grow up, and this feeling bugs me more when I see my friends engrossed in some good horror or drama movies while I await to see some wonderland. It's not that I don't see or enjoy other kinds, it is just that these kinds of movies which talks of fairy tales and dreamlands makes me feel satiated. At times I get so much into the skin of them that I feel, think dream like the protagonist itself. I always love dreaming of beautiful lands and unreal creatures around me, as if I’m living in a fairytale. For me, even fairytales are real, I know some of you (especially girls) would understand the feeling and agree with me.I know we all want to grow up fast when we're young, but then don't you sometimes reflect upon your childhood memories and yearn to live those fantasies in a wonderland? I do.

What if there is a real neverland or a real wonderland? What if we are yet to explore them?

I wish it really was like that. I would have been the happiest person on earth if I would be the first one to explore them. Even the movie ‘A Little Princess’ made me visit a beautiful dreamland. India, my country has been portrayed like a wonderland for the little girl in the movie. But the depressing fact is, India actually isn’t like that anymore. I wonder if it was so thousands of years ago. But then, I feel so awful when I realize that if it was so I wasn’t born then and I’m born in the twentieth century and that I’ll always have to live in the twenty-first century that ought to make every person practical and not dreamy. I wonder where these dreams of mine would actually lead me. Often, I dream of writing something that would talk of my dreamlands when I have a decent career or rather, wonderlands. But, oftentimes I also end up dreaming that these will lead me to nothing and that I will end up ruining my career because in my prime, I’m actually living in dreams most of the time.

But, without these dreams, I’m never me. I love being a little girl, running around in nightmares and dreams. I don’t care if the world isn’t like me, but I believe, in my heart of hearts that one day, my dreams of being in a wonderland would surely come true. There, in that beautiful land, I would run along with amazing creatures, vivid and dreamy. I would land in a land of pink grasses, yellow trees with green trunks, bluebirds, purple, red, white and orange flowers with pearls as their leaves, castles made of gold, silver and diamonds and the whole world there would be like a smiling rainbow.

CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG BRIDE

The corpse-cold moon is staring below

Thinking

“Why is the maiden so sad

When she’s wearing a bridal gown?”

“O’ moon! You do not know,

But this is a heart, lonely and poor

And no bridal gown can make it glad,

When it is winter inside.”

The bride stands here, in front of a mirror

With kohl in her eyes

And blossoms in hand,

Thinking

“Is he the one I really loved?”

“No!” says her eyes,

“He’s not my love.”

“O’ Moon! How can I be at peace

When I’ll be someone’s I do not love?”

“My heart is bleeding

And he’s not here to wipe the blood”

“My eyes are wet

And he’s not here to kiss them with love.”

“Every drop of my tear goes in vain

And each drop of my blood dries up,

Keeping only the stain.”

“My frozen soul is dying…”

“O’ moon! I’m married to the man I’ve never loved!”

ESCAPING THE REAL

I was sitting on a ledge, pointed like a nose, and covered with grasses; tall, green and dry. The huge banyan tree nearby, standing tall on that narrow piece of land, gave it a creepy look. No wonder, not many people went there. And there I was, sitting with my face down, mocking the beautiful February afternoon with my tears. I was sad, a broken heart was all I possessed and a remorseful I had already decided that I should die. The sky was bright blue with a little hint of clouds, the breeze blew calm, and flowers blossomed nearby-everything that would have normally made any person happy. However, deep in my heart, nothing could make me happy. I felt my end was near; I wish it was!

I sat there for quite some time, maybe hours, until I was startled by a hand on my shoulders. Surprised, I turned around to find a stranger standing before me. I somehow hated him at that instant only, maybe because I knew he would show some pity on me, the very last thing I wanted. Instead, he was calm and to my utter dismay, he ordered,” You want to die? Go and die, do it. You don’t deserve life if you can’t value it.” Confused, I sat there, doing nothing. I felt embarrassed by my stupidity. Thereafter, he was kind to me and I cried my heart out, in anguish. Tears washed away my agony, brought back my sweet innocence. Then and there only, he promised, to accompany me in every moment of joy and sorrows alike. I was elated; nobody had ever showered such kindness and love upon me.

Since then, he had there for me each moment as I carefully treaded the steps of time. Soon, acquaintance gave way to friendship, a close one; he seemed the world of my broken dreams. So many beautiful evenings lost their count in our never-ending talks; my songs blended in his tunes to create the music of love. Everything seemed perfect, and complete; I was happy.

It had been nearly a month of our first meeting, when we both decided to visit the ledge, again.

Somehow, unconsciously we hadn’t mentioned anything about the ledge till then. As we reached there, I saw a young woman, almost my age. She was sitting exactly at the same place and with the same posture and state, as I was once in. I stood there for some time, dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. He asked me to go and talk to her. I did as he said. The woman too cried her heart out in pain. I tried to heal the last shreds of my broken heart by trying to heal hers. My past, the doors to which I had once closed, came flashing back all at once, and we shared our grief. I looked behind for him, but he was gone. I searched, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had fulfilled his need, his destiny, and now it was time to fulfill mine. I looked towards the woman; she unconsciously walked towards the edge of the ledge, and in front of my eyes, jumped down. I could feel the sea waves raging below to take her in its arms. I could see the journey till death and the calm and peace that surrounds it. Soon, I realized the woman was none other than me. I had ceased to exist back then, if not for him. Death invited me as I could feel his absence, for he was just a dream I dreamt for some time, on my last day on earth.

Tezaswita

TWO SOULMATES AND A WINTER EVENING

Sitting cross-legged on the terrace floor

Leaning on the half-wall

Staring at the evening stars

With my dearest friend,

I spent a dreamy evening.

As the hues of twilight

Slept on us,

Our hearts cried as we smiled

And talked about our dreary lives.

Forgetting every bad dream

We felt each other’s words

Talked to our heart’s content

Fulfilling our empty souls.

Long talks we had

On angels and witches,

Love and longing,

Hatred and mood swings.

We sat there, talking.

Letting our bleak present go away,

Munching crispy ‘kurkures’

We sat there, talking.

Stars shimmered above us

Moonbeams kissed us

And we shivered

In the cold winter night.

The mist enveloping us,

We felt our third eyes

Analyzed dreams,

Understood visions

And finding their meanings

Left the terrace happily

Feeling honey-sweet inside;

Forgetting that another dark night

Would be awaiting us.

A WINTRY MYSTERY

Down the mountains, after nightfall

Mystical the air feels,

The trees let their remaining foliage

ruffle in the wind

As it turns darker.

A voice is always heard,

A staccato singing

And very sweet

Soft, mellifluous, but

flows monotonously, as if

Speaking of her own untimely death

To her lover—still alive.

In this ghostly milieu,

Flickers a feeble gleam

In the dead of the night

But the next morn, you see

Nothing unusual, everything fine.

Conifers down the hills,

Wild flowers fragrant and fresh,

Birdies flying high and the

Shepherd bringing sheep to graze.

But that midnight again

Appears the dim flickering light

And the maiden sings…

Winter ends, and also ends

The enigmatic air, but

Only till next winter!

A SOLITARY BROOK

enjoying nature's bounty I wrote it when I went to Bhutan for a picnic party :)

Amidst the boulders and trees,

The hillocks and hills

Flows a rill here and there

Whispering into my ears.

I sit here writing

With you in my mind

Watching the flowing stream

With a blossom sailing by.

Rushing through the rocks

With such a tremendous force,

Bubbling water to bubbles

The stream flows by.

Pebbles I see here, under the water

Crystal clear,

And to the green above,

Dense darks I can see

In the midst of blue hues

And grassy greens…

Beyond this greenery,

A black bird perches at a branch end,

On a tree with red blooms,

A tree with leaves very rare.

But suddenly, in the course of

the whistles of water,

The bird flies away,

High above the zenith

High above the clouds.

As I write, a robin flies over

the pebbles and water,

And as I look

He flies into the infinity.

I keep on writing

As you seem to be here,

I keep on writing because

To my soul, you are near.

Singing a chorus and

Making whistling whispers

with the pebbles and boulders

The solitary brook flows by.