Love and the City

On my honest mirror this monsoon night,

I see the greying sky and her promises of stars,

Together they mirror with sweetened darts,

Memories of thee and “her” fabled sites.



Few as worthy of a verse as Bangalore,

Yet they say, I loved only thee more.



Every orchard and every garden’s gates,

That I passed, hath me look back for miles,

Only more charming was thy winsome smile,

When thee looked back on a conquering gait.



Whence they come, whither they are bound,

They reach by her lakes to pause and pose,

Like my travelling thoughts with their weary toes ,

By the memories of thy deeds, are resting found.



Few as worthy of a verse as Bangalore,

Yet they say, I loved only thee more.



Her gyrating nights and over-flowing taverns,

Stir me but lesser than thy mysterious eyes,

The city and the damsel in love’s playful guise,

Have etched many a verse in my heart’s caverns.


Few as worthy of a verse as Bangalore,

Yet they say, I loved only thee more.


Many are the songs written about cities. Yet none written on Bangalore. I took the responsibility of the doing the due to this beautiful city.

He....who...?

The perennial well of ever-returning thoughts,


Who, incensed by senses, binds them in knots.

Who, with doses of memory, keeps alive the dead,

who, in my assumptive cognizance is well bred.

From whose reflective lenses rise duals and triads,

Who, as a dreamy artist paints events in their myriads.

Who knoweth all knowns but of one’s own birth,

Who killeth even the valiant, like in ghastly mirth.

Whose rising alone raises worlds and their kings,

Whose slumber alone can set one’s wisdom to wings.

Who, as a glorious speaker hath his audience in tame,

But whose origin when questioned hath him bow in shame.

Who though loudly operative is improbable to find,

Thou art the bandit, my insentient MIND.

 

Bundle of thoughts, interpreter of our senses, holder of our memory, the building blocks of our knowledge and assumptions – the mind is the one and everything that builds the world around us. It takes us through events and dresses up our opinions. It has its landlord – me- in such a hold that it operates so fearlessly by its own whims. Truly, only when cornered and questioned of his credentials will he stop and bow in shame to his master.