Why I cannot say goodbye!

Prelude:

The world resides in the clandestine chambers,
Of the heart that hath witnessed its visual game.
Just as steady heat that resides in silent embers,
For long after the winds had consumed the flames.

________________________________________________

Long before thee penned thy farewell verse,
Hadn’t thee imprisoned this heart by thy ply?
Now, thou art the deity that my soul nurses,
Where is reason for the prospect of goodbye?

This heart, in longing misses its beat,
At every instance it hears your name.
Aren’t thou, who thus have taken a seat
Within me, a silent spectator of this game?

Like the magnet that holds to iron pieces,
To charge and galvanize their very frames,
Thou art held me by thy memories’ tresses,
Now, there is no escape from this sweet blame.

Destiny that banished me from thy presence,
Did only fill my every pore with thy thoughts.
The wicked wind could only spread her fragrance,
When to kidnap the flower was his callous sought.

Yes, thou would reside in me just as heat would in the embers, and hence, where is the reason to say goodbye!

A good friend of mine finds himself in a position to say a goodbye that he just cannot get himself to. This post is a message to him.

Bheeshma and Karna - II

In the design of death by Sun’s northern motion,
Was a meeting arranged with His earthly son.
With his body in pain and heart in devotion,
Bheeshma lay awaiting the call of Capricon.

Bheeshma:
“Who art thou that thus burns my feet
with tears, more than these missiles would ply?
Rise and by my crown, pray take thy seat,
For, what art a conversation that not eye to eye?”

Karna:
“Oh Sire, I rather face thy gracious feet,
for in meeting thy eye, thy disapproval, I fear.
Pray pardon this act, as imprudence, I entreat.
This is unworthy Karna – the son of a Charioteer.

From a dark cloud carrying years of unexpressed love,
That were driven by the winds of reason so peculiar,
Onto the palms of Karna as barren as wood stove,
As a torrential monsoon, fell Bheeshma’s tears.

Bheeshma:
“What imprudence lies in a grandson’s yearn,
for the rightful seat on his Grandsire’s knee?
Those wretched denials to Kunti’s noblest scion,
Was to rid him off his friendship’s cursed spree!”

“For it is thy prowess that hath fueled the prince with pride,
to design a war against he, whom the Lord Himself sides.
Walk across, O beloved Karna, to virtue’s open gates,
This ocean of blood is still shallow enough for a wade.”

Karna:
“Oh wise sire, where is virtue in deserting the hand,
that fed this being that even a mother found unsafe?
For me, betrothed to death, so enticing and grand,
What wisdom in bowing to the petty maiden called life?”

Bheeshma:
“Yes, death is certain as certain is night,
to all we, who dared the Blessed Lord’s might.
But O Karna, may you find all that in Paradise,
What Earth failed you, from all her riches’ guise.”

Karna:
“May my beloved prince know Karna – his companion,
and know not Karna – Pandavas’s foremost scion.”

Bheeshma:
“Its only when the Sun sets on his glorious son,
would Earth know of Karna’s selfless loyalty.
In bloody Kurukshetra where a crown is to be won,
The spirit of Karna would be its unsung novelty.”

Just spoke Karna and walked back to his tent. He spent the next few days in high-end warfare against his own brothers, the Pandavas, till he met with a glorious death. Such was Karna, one of the noblest, the bravest, yet most cursed warriors of his times.

Bheeshma and Karna - I

On the tenth day of the Kurukshetra war, Bheeshma, the Commander-in-chief of Kaurava army falls to the arrows of Arjuna. This is the meeting of the ever-offended Karna with the architech of the offenses, Bheeshma on the later's bed of arrows.

Part 1 describes Bheeshma's fall and Karna's visit to his bed of arrows.

The news reached him as a boulder of gloom,
That even Karna’s mettle gave way to silent quivers.
To the bride of martyrdom, stood Bheeshma the groom,
After a glorious courtship in this theatre of massacre.

Duryodhana's sorrow and visit to Karna's tent

With his heart heaved with many a sorrow,
Duryodhana fights his day in mourning,
With none from whom was solace to borrow,
He craves for the night to give him a darning.

His defences fell at Karna’s unaddressed door,
His sorrow poured like cascades over the rocks
In Karna’s palms did his unending tears, gore,

Alas, Time had just begun His ghastly mock.

(unaddressed door - at that time Karna did not have a place in the Kaurava Army; unending tears gore - Duryodhana's tears were piercing his dear friend Karna's palms; Time...ghastly mock - after Bheeshma's fall, Kauravas were to face continous defeats and losses)

Past fallen heroes and their pain-filled grouses,
Past the wrenching wails of their ashen spouses,
Past days of dishonour and shame-scared nights,
Karna walks to the bed of Kuru’s oldest knight.

(days of dishonour-shame scared nights - Karna was never honoured as a royal, he was always ashamed of his unusual birth; Kuru's oldest Knight - Bheeshma - Bheeshma was the last of Kuru dynasty, as further generations were not strictly Kuru geneology)

The aged frame visited by a thousand arrows,
But fewer than his Destiny’s unending cons,
His body bedecked by many a bloody furrow,

Bheeshma lay awaiting the call of Capricon. ..... to be contd.

(fewer ..unending cons - the thousand arrows were less painfull than the sufferings he underwent under cruel circumstances of royal life; call of capricon - Bheeshma awaited his death till the Sun's northern movement beginning from Capricon - called utharayana)

The Genius of Kalidasa

Kalidasa was once asked by a courtesan about a riddle she heard was troubling the scholar class in the king's court:
"Kamale kamala uthpathihi shruyate na drishyate"
(It is heard that on a beautiful lotus, grow two beautiful lotuses. But no one seen it?)

Kalidasa immediately replied:
"Bale tava mukhaamboje katham indeevara dwayam"
(O girl, has not any seen the two wonderful lotus-like eyes that grow in your beautiful lotus-like face?)

Such was the genius of Kalidasa who has given us many classics in Sanskrit dramatics and poetry.

A Fairy on Earth

The protogonist is a fairy that has come to grace the earth from fairyland. Being lent by Paradise to Earth under the promises of hospitality, the author laments the rough phases the fairy encounters during the stay. The author calls for immediate remedy in order to bring back the famed aura to the depressed fairy as well to have Earth reclaim it's fame as a honourable host.

Generations have recorded the lore of beauty,
Of grace compounded by wings and satin ties,
The creation that had been God’s earliest Duty,
The fairies have rightly defined the pride of skies.

Those times that thou plucked one from this clan,
A play of charity that the heaven did on thy account,
O Earth, thy fame is to be written by the élan,
Of hospitality thee displays in a fitting amount.

One such fairy from the order of paradise,
Graces thy plains like a bud in the barren gardens.
The garden awaits the splendor of her blooming trice,
And she, the spring, of which thou are a terse warden.

And then, like the callous breeze in its shoddy stride,
Thou brought disarray to her blossoming sport,
Why? Was it thy famed fear of serendipity’s chide,
That thee chose to play tricks of such pitiful sort?

May the skies and thee seek an immediate heal,
To bring to her, the charm that was her unique trait,
May thy joint efforts at the horizon reveal,
Those enticing scenes on which her dreams parade.

To the Mother

This day would earn wrath for its concealed scam,
Of planting these thorns under my unsuspecting feet,
For hiding my coat when the rains were to slam,
And turning success away, when my palms rose to greet.

Thy smile answered my knock* and eyes questioned my whine,
That wise brow that always soothed my contoured emotions,
The vessel that were tormented by the waves of the marine,
Has indeed found in the motherland, many curative lotions.

Where else could I ask tonight, this love so deep and wide?
Where else can I park this load and need nothing to pay?
In thy embrace, I hide my frame and yet have nothing to hide,
This world forever, is in need of the mother’s cradling sway.

In thy shadow my heart’s unformed stories find courage,
On thy virtuous palm, my tears are no acts of shame,
May this world that thee begot read thy unsaid message,
That it’s your winning smile that brings even the sinner to tame.

Thy winsome love is our lesson for admiration,
And thy embrace, the ocean that dissolves our gloom,
Your uncomplaining tears are a reminder of creation**,
May the Lord make this wide world worth thy womb.

* - Knock of the door

** - tears of pain during child birth

Breath

So overwhelming in silence that it evades memory,
This secret factory and its clandestine mission,
Of life’s endeavors chequered with sorrow and glory,
Is breath and its answers to heart’s ardent percussion.

Some find greatness in form, and some in wealth,
Some in their bloodline, while some in the miles they rove
Some in their fleet and some about envious health,
But where is glory in these without life-breath’s approve?

Victory to a sword is not blood but to it, a solemn respect,
Greatness to man is mere flatter without breath in his reins,
For sword and unrestrained breath are fury’s ready suspects,
Ask history-that helpless spectator to many bloody rains.

Like love whose depth is defined at the hour of separation,
On Death-bed’s stage, we will finally embrace this companion,
“One more hour” we would pine for, to postpone final vacation,
Till the fairies up there call our names in sweet union.

Tapping a Tender Coconut

This is a comparison of tapping a coconut, to a seeker of Spiritual Truth. One who seeks the coconut drink needs to overcome the height(of the tree), the hard outer cover, the stubborn fibres and finally the frame of the nut. Similarly, a Spiritual seeker needs to surmount attachments, blind belief in theory in books, self-love, pride arising from advancement etc to finally find his goal which is well hidden in his very self.

Each stage of the coconut hunting is described with the compared Spiritual seeker's journey described in Italics

1.
In the coconut grove and up the testing bark,
He strengthens his grip after every slithery lark.

Amidst many a loving kin I slip to a binding tune,
But the all-knowing books promise to take me past the dunes.

2.
Many a snarl overcome by his riveting belief,
He reaches to his fruit, alas in short-lived relief.

Practice and determination make me wise against delusion
But my newfound armor besieged by pride and her mission.

3.
A steel cold cover to break and unyielding strings to sever,
His bruised palms hold only one tool-faith that magical lever.

Hurdles this far have succumbed like butter to knife,
But did I know self-love would be my bloodiest strife!

4.
His muscles have withered and his voice wouldn’t reach his ear,
Every victory has been scoffed at by another riddle- so wry.
And when he placed the final blow with his determined gear,
He was awarded his drink, in all its sweetness and in fulfilling high.

Hours spent in discrimination, and books that were read,
But it’s the Heart* when found that the journey is done.
For many a wall surmounted and warriors sent dead,
But it’s when the throne annexed that the Fort declared won.

* The Heart here does not imply the physical heart but the very Essence of Inner Consciousness which the wise hail as God.

Two words for 'ya'!

When you deny her, her favorite jewel, it is an agitated “get lost”,
But it is a warm “come on” when she burns your choicest toast.

When your car, in first gear wails at her dressing room tile
It is a timeless “am done” screech with a glorious smile.

These days have given you miserly doses of football “guff”,
Yet her new hair-do, that you failed to note, reminds: “that’s enough”.

Roses and daisies might have threaten your calm brow,
All for that “my dear” after that evening’s even threatening row.

But when you knock her door with a “don’t disturb” key,
“and chocolates?” came the sting that was harder than bee!

Her “my goodness” has never revealed its true intentions,
But your constant “love you” get rewarded with periodic pensions.

Just as you draw close to her, intentions as chaste as white,
Your “I do” whisper gets returned with a loud “good night”.

Alas, life is a cruel game of two-worded scoffs,
The most harmless of them being a well timed "F___ __"

Note: These are random thoughts penned down, any resemblence to anyone is purely coincidential and hence unintentional. May undeserved fame for a certain two-word phrase be henceforth dissolved.

Kite Flight

When he first threw up the kite for me, the flight ended in a few seconds. The wind was blowing in the exactly opposite direction. After changing positions, and a few words of caution, he threw it up again. I started pulling at the string vehemently believing, the harder the pull, the higher goes the kite. I found the kite at my feet. A few such clumsy attempts passed by. The kite had now begun a graceful flight up in the sky. Just when I began to smile, I felt the first cut of the manja(glass string). I never expected bloodshed at kite-flying. I thought that was the safest of all games. Aghast at my bloody palm, I dropped the string, my friend dropped his spool, came running to nurse me and we lost the kite to a tree branch.
When I next began to fly with a bandaged palm(I felt like a hero already), I thought I had learnt my lessons. The kite was now flying high and I rejoiced my new position of an expert. I could now fly and talk to my friend at the same time, answer my mom’s tea-time calls and what is more, even sip hot tea. Then misfortune struck and I found myself with an empty string. I had not noticed that the kite was flying dangerously close to a cable and so, did not navigate it out of danger.

One fortnight after my first expedition I was a much better kite flyer, learning the tricks every day.


1. You have to know the nature of the wind, your greatest enabler before launching the flight.
2. You have to pull the string with the right intensity at the right time to set the flight.
3. You cannot care a penny about bloodied palms while flying a kite. That is routine. In fact, that is the motivator.
4. Never take your eyes off the kite however steady the flight is.

Four valuable lessons for a successful and enjoyable kite-flight.

Interestingly, they hold good for a successful relationship too. Hmm..intersting indeed.