The eye in the skY

I perched on the sky
saw the world getting by

Many melted into the earth
Many were thrown off the womb

So calm it looked the blue
So serene the clouds that floated, bloated and cried

I saw the birds flapping and the Gorrilas yawning
Orangs swinging and ants working
Humans dressing and snakes undressing
I saw the Polar bears walking and pigs snoring
I saw infinite sights
Unending music of sounds
I heaved a sigh!
Are there not enough reasons to rejoice?

I flapped my mind and descended back on earth.

Grains of Sand

Countless
Passed
All
Faded..

Many
Paused
All
Disappeared

Beneath the ocean
on the top
floating with waves
drowned in it
Present but absent
visibly invisible

Till it came to the shore
I was unaware
of life's duality
With time sails memory
With waves sail sand
this is the end
my beautiful friend
the end ( In Morrison's tune)

Another passed.
Another disappeared

But there curls
another wave

Infinite.

The beginning of the End

As my lament amplifies to a horrific howl, Wordsworth seems too subtle, Edward Munk's painting evokes imageries of placing my hand on my ears and reciting Ginsberg's HOWL, the best minds of my generation thought it was best to be inSane. As I read about 'economising' air we breathe and water we drink and everything else on this blue green planet, I shudder in fear for capitalism now wears the mask of market based instruments and mechanisms- selling carbon like popcorns and trading species under the umbrella of legality, I am glad I am insane for sanity makes no sense to me. Pulls and pushes, north and south, east and west, all created, constructed and construed to perpetuate dependence, polarization of power and income- a slow leech sucking all the blood and when there remains no core nor no periphery, no more dancing in space,all that will remain is the silence of pungent death brought by invisible hands of greed.

I see stars in daylight

I see stars during daylight,
it takes an extra eye to see them,
the eye of the mind.

I see the moon during daylight,
It is round and full always.

I see the sun when it is cloudy,
just behind but there.

I feel the dance of the earth,
the same move everyday,
the sun and moon are testimony.

I see the same face in the mirror everyday,
but the light in my eye changes,
my eye is my mind, my mind is my eye

Mystical mystique universe,
ask and thou shall receive,
listen and thee shall hear,
look and thou shall see.

I see stars during daylight,
do you?

6th Mass Extinction

The ball in space,
had once flaming dragons and veggie dinosaurs,
all left only in memories of fossils now.

The ape that once scratched its head,
walked on dangling limbs,
today wears a black tie and carries a suitcase.

Five times before,
from the Ordovician to the tertiary,
death reeked from all corners,
death but caused by nature,
regenerates

The sixth is underway they say,
the ball will silently float in space,
no human cries, no roaring tigers, no cuddly Pandas,
nature will shrink, does that make you think?

7 Billion heads, 7 billion mouths, 14 billion hands,
grab and waste, kill and taste, throw and go,
cling an animal on your neck, your ears,
all but to please the eye, but what says the bigger eye,
the third eye?

Kalyug

No More

I want to hide my head in the shell of time,
pause it with my tiny paws,
tick tick no more

I want to lick the dripping cream from ice,
my red tongue and delicious white cream,
drip drip no more

I want to lie down and stretch my back,
heave a sigh of relief and let you hold my hand,
appear disappear no more

I want to play with buttercups and tear fine green leaves,
face my chin up and soak the sun-shine,
fade behind the clouds no more

I want to sleep with open eyes
savour every moment of being alive
blink my eyes no more

I want to enjoy the silence
let my mind sleep and tuck my brain
learn to think no more

I want to stop writing unpoetic verses
waste words and digital ink
write poems no more

I wrote a note in a coat

I refrain
from pain
to be sane

I laugh
just half
to laugh the other half

I sing
to ring
tring tring

I fly
to flee
in glee

I sit
on seat
to eat

I pray
to stray
every day

I think
to brink
and sink

I sank
in a tank
that rank

I drank
and drank
got drunk!

Anju

You are eighteen today,
I was five when you were born.
I have held you as a baby,
seen you grow up to a beautiful teenager.
We have fought and quarrled and belittled each other,
but despite all I love you and I know you feel the same.
Common blood binds us and common ancestors combine us,
common roots connect us.
We are sisters, two branches of the same tree.

You will soon embark to see the world,
a world of much people, ideas, spaces and places,
of much death from history and hope from technology,
of much destruction, evil and love,
of much self disvovery and recovery,
of much exploration and adventure,
all I can say is enjoy it, savour it,
for they are all yours,
live it and love it,
for they are all become memories.

Have fun.
Follow your heart and you will be fine,
live like yourself and you will be you,
on a dark night when you do not know what to do,
read my poem and know that I love you,
I am always there for you.

Happy Birthday, enjoy your last birthday home.

Mindfullness

Let me share a secret
that everyone knows.

Happiness comes from being happy.
Being happy comes from being content,
content comes from appreciation,
appretiation comes from compassion
compassion comes from love

Awareness and thankfullness for moments
live in 'here and now'
don't make it then or when
enjoy the water in the tap, the food in the shelves,
the clothes on yourself,
enjoy enjoyment
joyfully
happily

Future you can't predict so why try?
past you can't erase so why brood?
Now is what you have, live it.
Mindfully love it.

Loosing the Human Touch

I walk in, pick up a basket and start throwing in groceries. It is a typical supermarket, brightly lit to accentuate the colourful items decoratively collectedly from countys and countries; French salad potatoes to African Fruits to Indian spices to fish and meat. I throw in more things, cheese, juice, milk, and every vegetable you can make datshi with. Infact I have discovered a new way of fast food, with the datshi drop in some rice as well, there comes your Bhutanese quickmeal.

I then wonder who grew these food items, what must their life be like, where, how did they fare from the deal, were they cheated, who makes money out this item that I buy, are we destroying the environment by buying food? Is that why we need to buy certified environmental friendly items? Cetification in most cases are a scam in itself so who do we trust? Is it an ethically produced item, ethically advertised and marketed?

I scan all that I need, I look around and see children chauffered by their parents in prams, calorie conscious people looking for no/low fat foods, no one talks to each other, for gods sake it's a SUPER market not an area of social interaction.

How recent is this supermarket phenomenon? How long ago was it that people went out to the local markets to buy necessities of survival, man on man? And I am shaken from my reverie of supermarket thoughts when I reach the queue. Everyone queues here, no one cuts lines or no one pushes, it's a calm queing process, of moving like ants, I must say I enjoy it. It gives me all the more time to look at people, what they have bought and what they are wearing or how they behave. I see some scratching themselves, some dazed, some listening to music and some simply in a hurry. I know nothing about any of them, I never see the same one in the queue again. I never know the man or woman behind the cashier is like - like I do when I buy things in India or Bhutan. The bill shows on the screen, he/she utters a number and a debit card swap, deal done. Some say have a good day or thank you, some are just disgruntled, I say thank you and leave.

I miss those bhaiyas and didis who had not even have calculators and who were open to bargain and talk and who had fresh food! I miss those amas and apas and agays who would chew doma and calmly give me my needs at the same time turning their prayer wheels or beads.I miss the humaness, the genuineness of a smile and conversations that made buying a process so interactive and an interesting experience.

What have we have done to ourselves? I just see silence, silence that seperates the human from the human and makes a computer or an ipod more personal than a person itself. I miss those bus conductors who would smoke biris and talk to you, narrate you stories.

Life is all about stories in the end, is it not?

I see the developing countries now marching the trend of supermarkets- in every field, that too with great pace,hurry and surity.

Is it just me who is emotional?

Ze Woman I met

On the way to a party, I met this really strange woman on the bus. The entire bus was almost empty, it was about 10 PM and there were two or three men at the back and a woman came sat next to me in the front row, I was a little surprised since there were so many empty seats and when I looked at her with that surprise highlighted on my face she started talking saying " I don't like sitting at ze back," before I could say something in return, she started mumbling how late ze bus is everytime and how it izis annoying to wait for ze bus for 25 minutes and how all her cousins have cars but she likes riding in ze bus and on and on ze went. I was amused, I quite liked listening to her. She had a "ze" accent, African roots (slight), short blode coloured hair which had turned to bronze and there she went with her ze zes....Few minutes later she told me she is French and her roots are from Venenzuela. Ze was one hell of a woman I have met who talked for so long in a span of some 5 minutes.

I hope to see ze woman again!

Excerpts from my love letters

I feel terribly lonely. I stretch my hands to touch you but it only brushes against my memory, frizzles and you fade into smiles while the gajini tune in the background dissolves. You appear again, I try to hug you but only end up crossing my arms hugging emptiness, I see you slip out of my embrace into my mind with your face infront of me. Crazy.

It has definitely been long since I wrote you a long epistle, there are so many things to tell and none to utter, so many to share and no words to express, what is the point telling you what has happened to me since I have come here, what is the point narrating my experiences when they are just mine and no story could re create it, it remains as nothing but my memories, good or bad I bury it silently, I feel wicked too for I know they are solely mine safely locked and chained and left aside in my private library.

What does it mean to be a companion? We are both different individuals, with different organs and functions, thoughts perceptions and experiences, how much do we share, what do share and how truthful are we to be? As a human as much as I have tried to be truthful sometimes I wonder whether I really have been, even to myself, there are times and incidences which make you lie to yourself, hide things from yourself where a part of you knows the truth and the other denies it, is it the battle between your superego, id and ego?