Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Akash Sagar writes

"Freedom For Free"

And man was born,
He gave himself a name untorn;
Sketched borders to abandon
The pawn's own throne.

A kingdom,
Denied its freedom.

Man tilled minds,
Traded needs of all kinds;
Tried in time to swim against tides,
The hungry sickle still finds.

Freedom got sold for free,
In lands of eternity.

Now we make plastic Gods,
Brick upon brick in every abode;
Endless war of crossroads,
Evenly lost in personal odds.

Freedom died,
When Earth cried.


A. V. Koshy writes

Swapna Sundari (1)
(First Draft.)
a) Epistemology

You were Nature first

and then the influence of my mother

You whispered sweet nothings in my ear

and every time you made me your channel

it was nothing but girl; all woman power

I realized the pattern was not created by me

The third time you wore the face of death(10)

but then I searched for you anxiously in face after face

Each face holding a piece of the puzzle

But never matching or making the whole

Only hints and clues and life no Holmes

Or Watson but the search goes on in the bones and marrow

In the blood and joints and in the subterranean fields unborn

Found three or four almost matching or five, six or seven -

Each time the fix was not yet the right mix

When you are an addict you keep playing with the doses

trying, against all hope, to get hold of the purest

b) Second coming.

Bangalore was the place for hardcore junkies like me

I almost found you in it. My veins were easy to find.

I did not need a rubber to make them stand out, unlike Jeet

The stuff went in through my eyes and I od'd

Chemical romance gives rise to beautiful visions

I had Renaissance on my mind in those days

Dante, Florence, Italy, Milan, Naples, gondolas, Venice, Beatrice

Rome? - it could not hold a candle to your nipples

outlined against the thin fabric of your striped shirt

You were young and stylish then and no film star could match

you, in your new avatar

the you from whom I stole nothing

except two kisses

but on a beach in Libya

I had to write your swan song

after staying away from you in Jeddah

Marriage took you away

or was it just that you grew old

mature and suddenly realized

poems and people are not telephone calls

You did not die, you always returned 
in the advancing nights

as someone else, being sought

like those flocks of rain birds

that in formation would fly

across foreign skies

near the beach opposite Malta, across the deep blue Mediterranean

while I grieved for the light of family, friends and missing or dead/dying muses

stranded, far away from me

In Bangalore - dark and bright.

(10) Refers to my sister Tina's death. She was seven months old and I ten and I wrote a lot of poems to get out of the anger I felt at life or God or science then. She is also referred to in the last line of the section "The first place."

Image result for addict painting
 The Addict -- Rupali Motihar