Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts

Sunday, January 6, 2019

Teesta... A longing heart for Darjeeling


The messenger clouds carry a bagful of sad messages,
The sad heart turns into fog
And the restless heart turns into Teesta...

The sad messages come to the land of hills and forests
In square boxes;
Please let the heart stay as it is,
As it reads the sad messages enthusiastically...

The clouds carry a map to guide the messenger clouds,
And the twisting roads lead to his house surrounded by gardens.
At the end of the garden lies the main gate
And the rocking chair in the Verandah...

A small strip of sun ray falls on the carpet laid on the bed
The messenger cloud empties his bags there.
The messenger clouds carry a bagful of sad messages,
The sad heart turns into fog
And the restless heart turns into Teesta...


Wednesday, March 9, 2016

A Journey to Begin


A person with an immense depth in her heart, 
As it is in her eyes. 
But the love struggles to sink in those depths. 
May be she has turned immune to affection,
That a guy struggles to have for someone.
The herald of emotions come in between,
And camouflage the love that wants to seed in the barren.
But the determined destiny has to come into play,
And the two souls will mingle into one.
For they are in need,
In their wish to prosper.
And that they can make it true when they are together.

The journey is about to begin.
It's dawn knocking on the threshold of their windows.


Sunday, February 14, 2016

In Praise of Memories...


The good. The bad.
He lives them all.
From the bunch of frames,
He admire that young face over and over.

The love. The hatred.
He feels them all.
From the glory of experiences,
The scar shines like the bulb in blur.

The life. The death.
He hears them squall.
From the depths of somnolence,
Life wants to rewind itself with whir.


Friday, December 11, 2015

Breached

I watched her, enwrapped in the impeccant laughter, and met those dimples on her cheeks.
The depth of ocean seemed short, when my eyes apparently glued onto hers.
I knew her hand from mine will never get away, as she existed for me beyond promises.

Until one day, when I realized my arms never ever existed. I was born armless.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Ripples

It was love behind the sustained silence, in desire to stay lonely in the bygone fragrance.

It was love in the whirlpool of sensations, frozen behind a cold face, dejectedness in his all actions.

That merriment of his was love, when it bloomed for the first time in his life. That too was love inside, when the heart broke for the second, and for the third time.

It was still love, when his heart withdrew from faith, and stopped to dream anymore.

It's my love for him, as I narrate to you his story. Its story of a wave, which never recovered from the wraith. He rippled till he died, and homed inside the grave.

Love is a game too, only later he realized. You win, you lose, but its love that pushes you to play.

Anshul Gautam Ripples


Image Courtesy : Google Images Search

Saturday, August 16, 2014

While it rained...


My eyes used to take me till the horizon where a distant tree met the marshy land. I could see people, though scarce in number and outspread on the field, working as farmers for the crop…The crop that would feed them and us. I witnessed how their hard work benefited us, they made grains available for ourselves to buy. Then, I wondered that someday my hard work would help others too.

Interlaced with their sweat, rain washed the land. They ploughed and ploughed, till the land was ready to produce. In the uninterrupted pelting of rain, maverick birds flew through the wind…Some flew against, while some steered along with the wind.  I felt caged with all my defects in the small room at the roof, while children played outside. It was water here and there, and everywhere.

I heard happiness. I saw it too. I saw secrecy in the ambience where each one conspired for a productive tomorrow. Farmers, birds, children, trees, and the God, they unified themselves below the pouring cloudy sky. I felt caged, but they enjoyed. They enjoyed themselves to the fullest, mocking me of the pitiful captivity I was in. Real chains were not necessary, my own thoughts of my defects had made me a slave.

After clouds faded off slowly into the pitch black and while the rain continued, a wise owl obliged me by resting at my window. I don’t remember when my eyes closed and how I leapt into the house of a farmer. But before I could have completed my play with their children, the owl woke me up. He said that he has come to my rescue, to unchain me. ‘The key to your chains is in your point of view’, he said.

The next day was different. I heard happiness and I saw it too. But I became a part of the ambience now. Farmers, birds, children, trees, me, and the God, everyone unified themselves below the pouring cloudy sky, and we conspired for a productive tomorrow. The gloom of grey in surroundings was changed, because my point of view was changed. Keys to the most endured locks lie within us.

Monday, July 28, 2014

In the praise of Lord Ganesha








I meditate on the glorious Lord Ganesha, clad in sparkling robe, omnipresent, endowed with four arms and a benign smiling face to ward off all impediments.

In all my good and bad, you make me aware of your presence. 
If death is about to come in the next move of the puzzle piece, I shall not be afraid to make it. 

I chant your name no matter what comes now, you will remain the king of all puzzles we were afraid of.



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Thursday, June 12, 2014

A House at the Grange

Since ages I haven’t been asleep in the lap of insouciance. It has been so long since I was at my home, the place where I grew up. In the ‘Nest’ of ‘Love’, my childhood bloomed. Where birds came and lived and became part of my evening plays, that is my home.

Every morning it was chatter of birds in balcony that woke me up. Their tore up feathers I collected, and preserved them so I could remember them even after they left. Tickle of my small fingers on the feathery head is still afresh in the memory. Where I lived lovingly, that is my home.

By the shade of the back wall in the compound, I recited poems in the afternoon. I weaved stories and played my role with conceit. Mamma’s words went unheard and my plays continued in the blazing sun. Where life was carefree, that is my home.

I don’t wish to win the rat race now; I set myself free from all the responsibilities. I want to travel to the place that soothes me with belongingness. I want to soak myself in the rain of memories from my childhood. Where I will heal myself, that is my home.

Photographs were shot by Canon SX150, Point and Shoot camera. If you liked the photographs, please like the Facebook page

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Search for the life

As the train takes me through the darkness
My eyes search for the light,
To find in the thickets
If somewhere the life survives.
Rattling of wheels on tracks,
Keeps me mused and awake
Against the envelope of sleep
Embraced over the stretches of darkness.
Blindfolded on my open eyes
My ears make me see now;
Bridges, tunnels, plains…
All I hear, and in my mind I see.
But where is the life?
That, I can’t see.
I search for the light
To find in the thickets
If somewhere the life survives.
In sky is embellished,
Stars and the pearly moon.
And the rest is swallowed
In the endless depths of darkness
Through which I am moving
And in them my eyes keep looking
For if I can find light.
Who knows…
Somewhere out there the life still survives.




Image Courtesy: Google Images Search