EIGHTY SIX

All I feel is anger and distrust

All I wanted was to feel your sweet kiss.
Life plays a cruel joke
And you are not laughing.
But I smile and speak in a snake tongue
To hear lashing words whip me around.

I lie down in my bed.
Into a dreamless sleep.
I am right here beside you
And the distance between us is just like when we met six months ago.

There you are just beside me
If I wanted to I could touch you
But i don’t want to hold those rough hands
Feel them scrape against my skin making mine feel like silk.
But I don’t want to feel those heavy arms around my waist
As they pull me close into a warm enbrace.
But I don’t want to taste that sweet breath
Which you nonchalantly explain as just beer and smokes.
But I don’t want to look into those dark pools in your eyes
Where all history would drown.
But I want to feel the brush of your soft moist lips across my face, neck and brow.
I don’t want this.
I want you.

EIGHTY FIVE

Just when you have thought you are like everyone else,

Just when you thought your life was no longer like a story book,

That’s when someone walks into your life

And plants a sweet kiss on your lips.

 

And you are transported back to the bygone times …

To the time of holding hands

Or simply sitting on by the lake and gazing into the distance,

To the moment when everything was new.

Every touch a shower of spark

Every kiss a sweet smile spreading across lips.

 

There you are twenty something staring at the guy who makes you heart summersault

Watching him from the cornor of your eyes across the classroom.

Blushing when you stepped into the elevator alone.

Rolling your eyes at friends giggling around him.

 

Those were the days as they say of biting nails and telling tales.

The pages of journal falling short of counteless thoughts

Spilling over unbidden.

Of spontaneous outpouring of emotions.

 

And suddenly as this thirty something looks back on her silly growing up years
They don’t seem silly anymore.
And there I am grinning foolishly while those sexy songs play
And there I am pacing across the floor as I try to bid my heart from racing
And there I am going through the warm melted moments
And the blue duvet and the boy who owned it aren’t so horrible
And the long drives and 2 AM calls not lost time
And the Cricket World cup and midnight making out in the car,
As the world cheered the country, don’t hurt anymore.

And just like that, an exasperating guy lifts your souls biggest burden 
Frees you from the shackles of the past. 

Past that need not remain buried now.

Past that need not be regretted

Past that had so much beauty and grace,
Thrill and Passion .

Ah ! Yes, Passion.
Today is the day I’ve been Discovered!!

FIFTY FOUR

It is one of those days when I have a sense of melancholy grip me. I let my mind unwind and hope that in mundane things it will forget the strain of melancholy but it doesn’t and it picks and chooses what it sees , remembers and reads. So, today very early in the morning Wordsworth made an appearance not in his beautiful Daffodil way but in a more poignant thought of Lucy. The “Lucy Poems” are a well known group of poetry by the poet William Wordsworth. I bring to you one piece from them.

SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

–Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

            William Wordsworth

I don’t want to indulge in the background to this poem which is vast and also the critique for this and other Lucy poems, they are not my goal. What is however, my goal today is to share a thought. We all face a loss of some kind or the other. The loss of a human close to us is perhaps the most difficult. In the greater context of life, loss of any human life is difficult to deal with. Detractors may smirk at the RIP messages that fill the webspace when a celebrity death happens but I see it as a reminder that Death touches us all in the same way. We are reminded of our own fragility with each death we encounter and in some part of our mind we are thankful for our life, right at that moment. Personal loss of any kind is always hard to describe because it suffers from the stigma that society puts on mourning and what is to be considered the appropriate amount of time acceptable as time of mourning. What society does not realize or perhaps ignores for the greater good is, one cannot stop mourning the loss of a personal nature. Grief and sorrow do not come and go only because a time span has elapsed. There are certain loses which can never really be forgotten or forgiven (sometimes).

That is why … it is always the question of “the difference to me!”

 

THE END.

Reference Sources: bartleby.com

FIFTY TWO

LimeTree_background

This Lime-tree Bower my Prison

[Addressed to Charles Lamb, of the India House, London]

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring dell, of which I told;
The roaring dell, o’erwooded, narrow, deep,
And only speckled by the mid-day sun;
Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock
Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless ash,
Unsunn’d and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves
Ne’er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,
Fann’d by the water-fall! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge
Of the blue clay-stone.
                        Now, my friends emerge
Beneath the wide wide Heaven—and view again
The many-steepled tract magnificent
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles
Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on
In gladness all; but thou, methinks, most glad,
My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined
And hunger’d after Nature, many a year,
In the great City pent, winning thy way
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain
And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun!
Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb,
Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds!
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!
And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend
Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round
On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem
Less gross than bodily; and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes
Spirits perceive his presence.
                        A delight
Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Nor in this bower,
This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark’d
Much that has sooth’d me. Pale beneath the blaze
Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch’d
Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov’d to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above
Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree
Was richly ting’d, and a deep radiance lay
Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps
Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass
Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue
Through the late twilight: and though now the bat
Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters,
Yet still the solitary humble-bee
Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know
That Nature ne’er deserts the wise and pure;
No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,
No waste so vacant, but may well employ
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart
Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes
‘Tis well to be bereft of promis’d good,
That we may lift the soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the joys we cannot share.
My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook
Beat its straight path along the dusky air
Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
Had cross’d the mighty Orb’s dilated glory,
While thou stood’st gazing; or, when all was still,
Flew creeking o’er thy head, and had a charm
For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom
No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
I will not bore the readers with a critical appreciation of the poem, with years of doing that I think I have come to hate it on so many levels. But yes, I leave with the reader my thoughts on the poem and how it has influenced me in my life.
 This poem by Coleridge has remained my favorite since the undergraduate days. I had been introduced to Coleridge with the “Ancient Mariner” when in High School and frankly, it seemed to dreary and dark for me to like. As a young person, too young perhaps to recognize that darkness exists everywhere and most often we do not notice it because of the light. The significance of this poem came to me one dreary afternoon working in my first job, straight out of a B-School. I yearned to be with my friends in the dingy canteen of my institute filling up on egg fried rice or biriyani, with a bottle of thumbs up, catching up on the latest movies on a sleepy afternoon after bunking off classes, gossiping during group study in a friend’s home. I didn’t want to wade through hundreds of badly typed, framed, misspelled resumes and sort them in order of whether they came from North or South of the city.
This poem has graced my cubicle wall for years behind calendars, post it notes, notices, labor laws, minimum wage declarations and what not. It has shared space with photos of boy friend, heart-throb, sometimes a deity of some importance. It has remained in my heart and pops up in my head from time to time.
It is usually a time when I am feeling down, unhappy with my current location and circumstance, wishing for being somewhere else, seeing in my mind’s eye the fantastic opportunity for enjoyment that I am missing by not being somewhere that I want to be. That’s when like Coleridge I have my tiny bit of epiphany, I see myself in the wider context of my life and where I stand today and how much I have gained and how little I have suffered in comparison to so many I know… and these sober me. They leave me a little more thankful for the life I am lucky to live. For that moment, at least, I am not unhappy, nor craving to be somewhere, for that moment I am okay where I am because at that moment I see how my imagination will always be with me and if ever I want to visit a place I miss, it will be clear and true in my memory. I will see it in my mind and I will not be saddened by the distance between us. I will only think of the happy memories that place in my mind has created and left with me.
Coleridge’s poem has touched me on a deeper level than I can fully describe. It remains one of my absolute favorites.
THE END.
Reference Sources: poetryfoundation.org, Image Courtesy [Copyright not held by me]

NINETEEN

Daffodils on the roadside - Photo credit - friend on Facebook [KB]

Daffodils on the roadside – Photo credit – friend on Facebook [KB]

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth
This is perhaps the first poem I read by William Wordsworth and it has stayed with me forever, he is one of my favorite poets. The education in Literature has provided me with the opportunity to look more closely at his poems and his life, in fact that is one of the primary reasons for my choosing to study literature. I wanted to learn more about my favorite poets and authors and read their other works. It is my great privilege to have studied at one of the Best University. The Department of English of my University enabled me to read, learn, understand, think for myself ,build my own opinions when it came to literary works. As a part of a new category I would love to share some of the well known, famous and my favorite poems with my readers. This is the first of the many posts to come. And I begin with the most haunting poem I read when I was in school.
The main reason why the poem haunts me is when I had read it as a child I was completely in awe of these flowers which the poet described. As a child who had never seen Daffodils it was fun and at the same time difficult to imagine the flowers. It much later when I had access to the world wide web that I was able to find a picture of the Daffodils and frankly that moment made me catch my breathe. They were more beautiful that anything I had ever imagined.
I prefaced the poem here with a photograph taken by a friend visiting UK. I share the photograph with permission and due credit. The flowers still make me smile. The poem still makes me feel good. Wordsworth meant a lot to me, I am glad I haven’t lost my love for him even after being part of the Corporate Rat race.
Tell me which is your absolute favorite poem, and I would love to share it with all the readers.
THE END.
Reference Sources: Wikipedia, Poemhunter