Thursday, January 1, 2009

Within and outside

Within and outside,
A surrealistic chaos,
Appears, disappears and appears,
And faintly stands still

Neon lit hoardings,
And bright taxis,
Run parallel to the curved sea,
Wind gushes in,
As I roll the window of my cab,
I smell the salty sea in the air

I make a conversation of,
What happened,
within and outside,
And then he laughs and she laughs,
And he pats on my back,
And I laugh too, wondering,
over the absence of strength of mind in me

His photo in the paper haunts me,
For a moment, I abnormally,
appreciate his looks,
and then I open that gift box besides,
the diamond necklace she awaited for,
and I cry and smile, as I see the folded,
roughly cut article that she gave me,
- “Tips for men to learn gift wrapping!”

A gush of myriad emotions,
Anger and antagonism,
quotes and pompous stories,
Courage, determination and the undying spirit…

I recollect my childhood days,
Red colored helium balloon in my hand,
And tears on my cheek,
As I sit at the barber’s shop,
For my haircut on floor 14th!

I now see a broken window,
And her tattered blue saree,
fluttering in the air,
Her name plate has stains,
and her purse that I now finally get to open and see,
- Brown lipstick, hand sanitizer, compact powder, black kajal, pink colour wrapped sanitary napkin, pink nail polish and a packet of blue bindis.
- all the tickets of the movies we saw, all the coffee bills and bus tickets when we traveled together
- her hotel employee pass, driving license, and pan card
- my photo
Truly, a ladies’ purse is so much a reflection of their own self

I recollect all movies where time moves behind,
“What ifs” and “buts” swallow me,
With every morsel that I swallow,
I tremble on reading that last sms,
And yet I read, again and again and again
And every eye that I see beholds a fanatic,
And every other eye, beholds a timid…

Within and outside,
Her screams echo
The sound of “fire crackers” echo
The soothing sound of waves echo
The breaking of the glass window echoes
My yells echo
Over enthusiastic News reporters’ voices echo
“It keeps happening” echoes
31st midnight “happy new year” echoes
Her whispers echo…
And everything stops suddenly!
Silence and smile as mom pats my back
I hate to be called a kid
I drink my coffee
And stare at my notebook screen,
Again to hear the same echoes…

I look up and see my soft board,
“Men are moved by two principle things - by fear and by love” - Machiavelli
She moved me by her love and you moved me by your fear…
Both have gone
and no one rules me now…

(post the terror attacks of 26/11 )


Isa said...

You are very gifted. I loved this poem, very powerful! Have you thought about publishing these anywhere?

Pankti Vora said...

Hi, thanks a lot for the appreciation! Well, have not thought about publishing as yet but I do dream of it sometimes....