Tuesday, 28 August 2012

Solitude ~


Solitude can be such a cozy partner
indulges us with the most soulful conversations
a million bifurcations
the what ifs
and the just -in-cases
flights of wishful fancies to unknown places
me and my solitude
we do this often enough

if he was here.....this is what he would say
oh this , would definitely annoy him
and that --would make him roll his head back
laugh uproariously......

and my solitude.....we do this often enough
on days when the going gets rough
the ache refuses to subside
and the rawness seems so alive
accessible and throbbing

my solitude and me
we give breathing space to our thoughts
i say , its a damned fine plot
we play dreamcatchers
and insist on hammering it out
sit under the shower
and draw smiley faces on the bathroom mirror
watch joy shoot out like a slingshot
grin at our own inside joke
as the drawings drip and blot

on some mornings... he sits across the room
watching me wake up
still in the throes of sleep...
of sleep and convictions
that get washed away with the first sliver of dawn
a willing pawn
still lost --- focused
as if trying to etch every detail of my lovebugs face
burn it so deep into my head
that it lingers long after i am dead
seemingly inconsequential things

the tilt of his head
the mole on his neck
pronouncing his o's as u's

i stretch and the solitude comes closer
i hum lines in hindi
hoping to beguile him

tu badan hai....mein hoon chaaya
tu na ho....to mein kahan hoon
mujhe pyaar karne waale
tu jahan hai
 mein wahan hoon

he nestles closer
and i rest my head
in the crook of his arm

we just do less for awhile
and don't feel guilty
about doing it all

© Sonny

 another wonderful night of poetry at dVerse,


Thursday, 23 August 2012

the texture of bold

As the first specks of a blazing morn
prickle me 
somewhere behind my neck
bidding farewell to another august night
there's a face in my sight
smiling at my plight
like a high class whore on a paris street
she struts her stuff
shifting the focus
at the forest fire
somewhere above my navel

a two faced kindness

grazing the skin
raking the memories

Her eyes bore into my lens
through the warps and wefts
defying trapped contradictions
in a simulation of boldness
placing that palm on her hip
she strikes a pose
a fire drill singed with smoking sparks

an impression
of a scorching yellow torch



Victoria has us writing characters for MeetingTheBar today.. .... at dVerse  


Tuesday, 21 August 2012


“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

I don't think i could ever find words to describe what i have been feeling lately , more apt than that....as much of a reader as i am , i generally find solace in my own words.....or rather the spaces in between...and so much that one leaves unsaid...
....nature's escape hatch ?
I don't know.....but what i do know is that the mere act of putting pen to paper or in this case as the mind takes off with lightening speed , the fingers comply ...fly over the keyboard as if commemorating an age old ritual of keeping rhythm , gloriously attuned to each other .

On days like these....i pull back....withdraw as much as i can into myself.....feeling a need to nourish my solitude , giving credence to what is uppermost on my mind instead of letting it drown under a deluge of what the world wants to throw my way.....to live my life, my way....with all the intensity i can and need to muster.

there was a power cut this morning....just as the rain started to pick up momentum...its gentle pitter patter transforming into a swishy symphony....everything went silent and draped in muted shades around me....i felt so gloriously cut off from everything....every nuance in the scenes around me, every tiny creak, got picked up and highlighted and felt all my own.....
every thought , every feeling unadulterated.....uncensored even.....finally...a smile playing on my lips...as i silently mouthed my favorite rumi lines.....

In your light i learn how to love
in your beauty, how to make poems
you dance inside my chest
where no one sees you
but sometimes i do..........
and , that sight
becomes this art

yes....finally...i could deal with the overwhelming emotions that besiege me ....every time i step out to shoot......finally i could feel a sense of calm steal over me in wanting to share it with the world....and a purpose in it all...

there are endless boundaries we place upon ourselves and the world erects for us......there is only one way to find out where to draw the line....
only one way to find out where the line is
and that is by---crossing it
push push push
ask the world
ask yourself

can you handle it.....?

wrapping my fingers around my coffee mug, i tried to unravel the layers of my sub conscious . just that...
i think , like me ...my inner goddess has had an overdose of 50 shades and has decided to revert back to her introverted pyjama clad hammock swinging self .

It is so easy to lose sight, lose purpose in doing what we love to do....to doubt the very reason of it all . I think , in each one of us , there is both a glowing ember and this fiercely frozen icicle....as seasons come go...the seasons of the heart and soul mind you...at any give time....some times...the ember thaws and melts the cold part....and on others...the chill seeps into every molecule and the ember knows it must wait the winter out....


Saturday, 18 August 2012

as summer walks the slow walk again......

 chunky big splotches of colors
a canvas of blazing blue
 a mellow sun's last symphony
chugging out some unexpected hues
 baggy t shirts
a garden watered to the core
pariah kites in swirling abandon
bug bites and open pores
bare skin
sweaty pecks
on napes of necks
summer equinox
dusk walking the slow walk
sticky sweet monotony of solitary hours
swinging in the hammock
ankles and arms interlocked
moss roses in hanging pots
some newly churned out thoughts
sheer muslin memories
in sluggish spurts
when did silence
become so hard to cut ?

sonny[all rights reserved]


ps. ---submitted for  http://dversepoets.com/2012/08/18/in-summer-y-dog-dayszucchinipoetics/

Thursday, 16 August 2012

those knots......

Did the many arise from one urge?
was it from the primordial mud
that came the first desire?

where was the beginning?
how long has it been?

is it in each one who seeks twoness
and in each two who seek oneness?

to be stuffed with sensations and starved of feelings
Can we choose, not to love?

sonny [ all rights reserved ]


Thursday, 9 August 2012

of waves crashing and some sepia thoughts....

 Staring out of the lighthouse window
as it guides with its neon light...
ships that pass each other in the night...
a distant foghorn, the receding haunting voice,
or do they pass each other by, out of choice.

i ponder over the cargo they haul,
warm ordinary human enthusiasm
a baggage of emotions long denied
all pushed behind a stark white wall?

Running my tongue over my lips
i taste a long forgotten kiss.....
notes from a saxophone, swaying my hips,
those carefree days ,how dearly i miss.

The vivid colours of my dupatta that never stayed in place
laughing out loud, the crinkly lines on your face...
those crazy days ,when passion ruled,
i manned my own ship...
fate sat in a chair and simply drooled.

That same passion, that conquers reason still....
this renaissance is a must, at times uphill.
unlike nash, i have no bone to pick with fate,
like rare old wine, i too am maturing late.

The chill in the air, warms my breath
turning back towards the steps, i hug myself
cold as death.....

Sensations of this night are not meant to be defined,
elusive.....refusing a tag of any kind.
my mind's shutter flashes images in black and white
fading now......
like ships that passed away in the night.

sonny [all rights reserved ]