Between The Lines- June 2016

Back with my column, 'Between the Lines' in Resurgam Magazine (June, 2016)

This month's poem relates to music :)

(Reading order- column wise from left to right, and then, the para at the bottom.)

Link to download:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/646619

Anonymous Identity

I am sunbeam caught in glass,

I make many a wildfire.
I make fury appear tame,
I am the edge of desire.

I am the first drop of dew,
I make the morning rise.
I am a cloak of darkness,
I make them starry, the skies.

I am a peal of laughter,
I make all your ghosts die.
I make journeys exciting,
I am the last mile.

I am a sky full of stardust,
I make the heavens divine.
I am a firefly,
I make your nights shine.

I am an elusive metaphor,
I make wild goose chases look promising.
I make storms worthwhile,
I am the silver lining.


(An experiment where each line of the poem begins with 'I am' or 'I make.' Also, intentional rhyme scheme after a long time. Feedback welcome!)

'Lessons'

Learn how to say goodbye
through every storm that would pass.
Late at night,
or early in the morning, strip
yourself bare. Crumble
to the ground
in an explosion of tears. Slowly,
start to separate
your silver headed self;
through the quicksand of grief, settle
into stillness. Dream
of a love that shines,
the dance of light
through windows. Whisper
to the full blue moon:
Now is the time
to move.
Learn how to say goodbye
through every storm that would pass.
Our story will always be ours.
Even in the goodbye.






(A found poem from the words and phrases appearing in this article:
http://www.elephantjournal.com/…/this-is-how-we-say-goodbye/ )

Second Chances

You could have been an unknown,
small town, power bereft
railway station
where no coach and no wagon
ever stops. 
You could have been forgotten thoughts
and a season 
snatched by oblivion.
You could have been a drought
stricken field-
the lush, bountiful greens
burnt to sienna and marred

by elusive rains, 
then charred
to a black none would see.
You could have been the
distant rumble
of an angry quake, the
immediate tumble
of bricks and buildings and beings-
a fiery tremor to shake
people out of sleep.
You could have been the silence
before the storm
and the rough rush
of rains born
of split, scorching skies.
You could have been a 
steady, salty downpour from the eyes.
You could have been the troughs
and crests of waves 
upon violent seas-
an untrammeled, untamed fury
descending, devouring the whole
of your unsuspecting city.
You could have been
a missed train
and an unfinished story
and a pen that ran out of ink.
You could have been
spilled coffee on a date
and spoilt conversations
and a mind that forgot to think.
Of all the things you could be,
when did you become poetry?
(for all those who survived the worst and didn't give up)
:)

Not a cliche (part 2)

You were a memory
stronger, stranger and sweeter

than all my memories combined.

And even though that's a
clichéd thing to say,
there was nothing clichéd
about reading with you, precariously
perched
atop your balcony ledges,
listening to page after page
unfurl
and footstep after footstep run
then pause, and hover
in search of companions
only to run again to
unknown destinations. 

Today, when I have left,
having gathered
learning beyond what my mind
could measure,
may I thank you
for all the ways in which
you've mattered?

And pluck from each brick, each leaf,
each gulmohar petal,
each lecture, each trip, each bunk,
each canteen table,
memories to last me a lifetime?

And even though fishing for memories
is a clichéd way to be,
there was nothing clichéd
about what you mean to me.

You were a memory
stronger, stranger and sweeter
than all my memories combined.

And you were not a cliché.

(For the best place with the best memories; for SRCC)

Not a cliche (part 1)

You were
a home away from home
and even though that’s a clichéd thing to say,
there was nothing clichéd
about the comforts I found,
lazing around
in your lawns, spreading themselves out
like unabashed arms,
anticipating a hug.

Today, as I leave,
here's the tightest hug that’s ever been…
should I wrap it up for you, SRCC,
in layers and layers of thanks
crossed and knotted with love?

Will you envelop me in this hug
for one last time
as I cry?
And will you hear
in this teary eyed goodbye,
everything I ever wanted to confess,
all the things that still need to be said?

And even though goodbyes
are pretty clichéd to wave,
there was nothing clichéd about the sunrays
that greeted me with light
as I stepped inside you, everyday.

You were
a home away from home
and you were not a cliché! :)

(for my alma mater) :)(