Do I LoVe yOu??? Friday, Mar 20 2009 

Yes, I fell in love with you.
I am still under your spell.
Yes, I admit it.

Your thoughts, your mind,
Your emotions, your call,
Each one was special to me.
I understood everything.
I knew you in and out.

Our love was so pure
That I fell short to comprehend it.
I took you for granted
And went ahead for the world around.

Now, when I want to come back,
Something is stopping me.
I know you are at the end of the tunnel,
Standing with your arms open for me.
Yet,there lies something inside,
Which isn’t allowing me to run into you.

May be there is a guilt feeling,
Or a feeling of having lost my innocence.
Or a feeling of done stupid things under the charm of my innocence?
And realizing them now…
When you are far away…
I am hurt…
And I have no respite.

Look, now I realize,
How many times I have uttered “I” in these few lines.
It was never “WE”.
It was always “I”.
Never did I look at you.
In spite of falling in love with you,
I pestered my selfish “I”.
Did I fall in love with you?
Or I always kept loving my “I”?

I have no answers.
Only sobs, tears,
And a feeling of loss.
Of losing my “I”.
(Well, I am happy about it),
And of losing you
And of losing “Our Love”, “Our Life”, “Our Dreams”
And Our selves.

———————–

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Five Days I Observed Her…Day V Monday, Mar 16 2009 

Day V

The last day it was,
I observed nothing of her.
She was nowhere,
Only her thoughts she left behind.

Every one was searching for her,
Women, men, alike.

She was gone somewhere,
No one knows.
Leaving my pen disturbed.

—————–

Five days I observed her… Day I Monday, Mar 16 2009 

Day I

While on my way to the station,
I saw her lying down.
A tramp she was,
With nowhere to go,
She was lying near the bin.
What stuck me was her dress first,
That showed her open back.
A male, she wanted, to touch it
From others she wanted a stare.

Her hair was so untidy,
I wondered who would approach,
But I have heard of cannibals,
Who feed their hunger with “those”.

——————

Passion for poetry…. Sunday, Mar 8 2009 

Guys, last night I read “Gitanjali”, a collection of Rabindranath Tagore’s poems. Unfortunately, I read the translated version 😦 Although what I read was a cut to cut translation, (hence it was in prose), it was an amazing experience. 🙂  This edition had a preface by W.B.Yeats written in 1912. Yeats was amazed at the immense talent, creativity and humility with which each and every word, every alphabet was woven into these poems. Yeats mentions that he always wondered why Tagore is held with so much reverie in his country. When he read his works (of course, translated), he was completely under a spell. Same was my case. Gitanjali transports you to another world, in the true sense of the term. It is a union of your soul with the metaphysical realm, without leaving aside your physical realm. It is about love, loving His beings, his things in whatever form you find them. Tagore pens of each and everyone, each and every thing with so much grace that you fall in love with everything… the skies, the stars, the grass and even the weeds. 🙂

Oh poor me! I again drift away from what I actually wanted to write. I have a friend of mine who is a known Marathi poet. When I had told him of having bought this book for myself (I bought Gitanjali one year ago and read it yesterday 😦 BAd Gurl, I know you must be saying this). He had, then, said, “Tagore is such a noble spirit and his poetry is of so much height that one must read him only in his original texts so as to understand a bit of him.” Being an eternal lazy bee, I just said, “Who’s going to learn Bengali for that? English is something I can understand at sight… so I am content with what I have (the translated version).” Yesterday, after reading some of his poems from Gitanjali, I realized I was wrong. What my friend said was right. If Tagore can keep you spell bound, elated with his translated works, how explosive will be the energy of his original works? How much calm will his pen provide when read in his native tongue? I must say, I am envious of everyone who knows to read, write and speak Bengali. Can someone teach me the language? I want to read the text in the original form? I do not want someone else to interpret the original for me? I do not want the food. I want to learn how to hunt. 🙂

I have known, till date, several people who’ve read loads of books (my collection is close to negligible). At times, I used to wonder how come they have the patience to read so much? I have felt this urge many a times.But never have I put it into practice. After reading Tagore (although in the translated version), I have understood what this thirst really is. Poetry has the capability to move a person from the remotest part of his soul. This is where passion develops and this when you become a good reader… knowing many things, yet oblivious to many.  🙂