tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37526388913583462024-03-12T16:49:05.387-07:00Naaranga MuttaayiKichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-37627884201221271552011-07-23T12:22:00.000-07:002011-07-23T01:48:15.526-07:00The Journey Toward<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRl4r-sj-nFtDwjjQuJ19itvJ9h4B5UMHFsh6BOSDskJU90wKwFUJ3m6CjNjDQPKT8grRxGGMumvLXzYiVy61yGVzY71KqA7V8osprbW22vA977bSq4dsqEZbXekqCwQgCXoyEUxBE0BA/s1600/temp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 378px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRl4r-sj-nFtDwjjQuJ19itvJ9h4B5UMHFsh6BOSDskJU90wKwFUJ3m6CjNjDQPKT8grRxGGMumvLXzYiVy61yGVzY71KqA7V8osprbW22vA977bSq4dsqEZbXekqCwQgCXoyEUxBE0BA/s400/temp.jpg" alt="" 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mso-para-margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The city is a grandmother: love, impropriety and aromas,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Stars dripping from the fringes of insomniac nights,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And the vertigo of unfurling stories, </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">that invariably lead towards her deepest chambers</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">where the dead awaits,</span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">like the drifting shadows of poetry</span></p><p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Embalmed in the impotence of chartered silence</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>that is ritually sliced, in a giggle, </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">a smooch, and shared chocolate bars.</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Rows of children in uniforms, pencils and notebooks,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Uncomprehending gazes at exquisite death and exotic verse,</span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The impatience of life flickering in their eyes.</span></p><p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The occasional benevolence of wintered sign boards</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">that guard six foot indulgence and cold marbled love</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">from being spurned into a virtual space-</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">that ruthlessly tags, and consequently forgets,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">The poet, The murderer, The king, The victim,</span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">And the tombs that own them.<br /></span></p><p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Someday, before my undocumented self flutters,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">A whiff in the air and a wafer of memory.</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">There is the dream of a journey,</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Towards a lost city, </span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">In the most intimate stories of which</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Sleeps, my beloved poet in his tomb.</span></p> <p style=" font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-63389255178719712122009-08-26T20:28:00.000-07:002009-08-26T20:34:54.843-07:00The Doll<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-US"> It was as if the house was drenched in fumes. Fumes surely don’t drench, but this one had a fluid quality to it. The fumes arose from the love and the music that shrouded it from the entire world. There was so much out there, hatred, jealousy, rivalry. But none of it would enter the home, for the perfumes that pervaded it would purge it of anything that did not have a splash of love and music in it. And so they lived, the father, the mother and the daughter, safely tucked in, in the flower carpet they had weaved over themselves, through the translucence of which they saw the sky and the earth. Whatever glimpses of the sky and the earth they had were beautiful. They loved the colours, they savoured the smells, and they often smiled at each other. The father was happy, and secretly proud of this tiny handful of heaven that he had picked from the vast shores of life, braving the darkness that threatened and frightened him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-US"><span style=""> </span>Among the little pearly treasures that flowed in one after the other, there were also little dolls, for it added to the daughter’s happiness. She loved them for they were to her the door of childhood that was eternally open. She only had to drift through its threshold to be whatever she wanted; the princess, the mother, the singer, the savior. The ecstasy of these transfigurations so enchanted her that she simply could not contain the waves of it within her self any more. She wanted to turn them all into glittering stars she could sprinkle over the entire universe. She wrote poems. With every word that bloomed from the unfamiliar chambers of her self she saw herself owning a little more of the universe. With every vision she created she could shower fragments of her self over a little more of bonhomie space and time. Thus she went, taking one tiny step after another, further and further into the world, and further and further away from her home that was drenched in love and music. Life now lay transparently before her. She reveled in the rain that washed her through and through, the sunshine that poured over her. She reveled in the red drops that dripped on from her nakedness into the wet black earth. She laughed, she cried, the precious handful of moments she had never permitted her to linger over a reason. She fell in love with silence. She was encompassed in the conch of childhood, and the inside of it was to her the essence of relentless freedom. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-US"><span style=""> </span>But eternities never last for more than a flutter of the eye. Even as she floated through the labyrinth of moonbeams that embraced her, she could not for ever thrust the memory of her father and mother into compartments of forgetfulness. They waited there, at the beginning of it all, with no place to go, now that the daughter’s estrangement had permanently shoveled them away from their home that was filled with love and music. They waited and waited, and when she could not pretend incomprehension anymore, she spent the night sleepless. She had walked in without a moment of hesitation, and now she could not discern the way out of the entanglement that was life, or was it poetry? She could not be sure. And then suddenly a very late revelation, a zephyr of calm, caressed her as she blinked at the light that she finally succeeded in discovering at the other distant end. <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; font-family: georgia;"><span style="" lang="EN-US"><span style=""> </span>She sat there on the huge bed, unmoving, unthinking, for some time. Then slowly, carefully, she plucked out her heart, numb to the pain. She held it close to herself as if it were a baby. When centuries had whirled through her and she was ultimately convinced that she had existed in them all, she realized that it was almost dawn and gently set to work. She carved the heart that she held in her shivering arms into a doll, and she was smiling. The smile grew more and more iridescent with every chink that was sliced out from the throbbing red. She had carved out a beautiful doll! She got out of the bed, unlocked the door to her room, and went into the visitor’s hall. She opened the shelf, shifted the violet furred teddy bear to another corner of it, and placed her heart there instead. She lay awake for the rest of the night, and not long after the sun had risen she heard her mother call out to her father, “Look at this new doll in the shelf. Isn’t it beautiful? Wonder where she got it from though.” And they lived happily ever after. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-61740690140818376432009-06-11T04:41:00.001-07:002009-07-15T03:26:05.921-07:00The Fairytale<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Life, with all its hues, </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />endowed me with all its secrets.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Years took me through forests, </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />sometimes green and sometimes black.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />And after a decade of slumber, or reticence,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I found myself a princess</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> in a little glass palace.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Guarded by a guild, the guile people.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Someone, I noticed, was hesitating</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> at my threshold;<br />A prince with a rose.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> Somebody whispered that he was God.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> I knew how to trust, consequently,<br /></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> he was invited, surprisingly he came.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">A patron conjured, 'lullaby' I mistook.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> He was thrown out while I slept.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />On waking I enquired, admonition followed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yielding, unyielding, I pushed time into a dungeon</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> of suppressed euphoria I shared, with Solitude,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />who was also being hunted, along with me.<br /></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Together we translated our nights</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />into astral fragments of schizophrenic agony</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">that swished across the seas only to wither away,</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />When you claimed the flicker by my name, as you did </span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />then own every fleeting anomaly, of time and darkness.</span></span>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-73840294541100030872008-10-15T05:03:00.000-07:002008-12-20T05:27:24.452-08:00Candle Wish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQazqf9i5I0iEngfuEPS8BgjR7R5rqFc7uYTjgHzXZC0Yr6CzAzzr3d3RCQlKQmqgc5C2P01BBWh2xeHUmspzRWR9V_18EO67Lyvy1AYstJH67m1T6w751syAvnRjGtZlPolBAj6TTZew/s1600-h/toblogchi.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQazqf9i5I0iEngfuEPS8BgjR7R5rqFc7uYTjgHzXZC0Yr6CzAzzr3d3RCQlKQmqgc5C2P01BBWh2xeHUmspzRWR9V_18EO67Lyvy1AYstJH67m1T6w751syAvnRjGtZlPolBAj6TTZew/s400/toblogchi.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281861643954746578" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I want to fly<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">On a fair winged horse<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To the depths of a blue world...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Where domiciles are eternal<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">On dark, dark nimbus clouds<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">From where they merge with<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The earth, sinuous and electrified,<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Drop after drop of love,<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To die and live in death<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The enigma of our Decembers.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I want to coup<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">On a fair winged horse<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To the depths of a blue world...<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Where intimacy is eternal<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Inside puny musical conches<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Carrying within them my world<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Haunted, Complacent, Invincible,<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">With its many secret arras<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Where my letters lie waiting<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The throb and aura of your fire.</span><br /><br /></span></div>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-16312589649605014752008-05-14T02:17:00.000-07:002008-08-18T06:29:23.423-07:00Love, In an Hour<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFmobKkP8KxkraEXP-wBDiA1RezqpwwlKueo8p2a9T7hub8dnSizzwWyxPzjSaBPO6D8PrkILOn6W3XrDNITgvD2tTett9D3H2BiaZvVPcuPfJdxY_Sm5YiY46M_68OBE15m0lBVqd-U/s1600-h/IMG_3690_ki.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFmobKkP8KxkraEXP-wBDiA1RezqpwwlKueo8p2a9T7hub8dnSizzwWyxPzjSaBPO6D8PrkILOn6W3XrDNITgvD2tTett9D3H2BiaZvVPcuPfJdxY_Sm5YiY46M_68OBE15m0lBVqd-U/s400/IMG_3690_ki.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235846905882331218" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Walk...walk walk and walk.....it is at sixteen that I discovered the pleasure of walks, the joy of rambling through nowheres and everywheres, in morning drizzles and evening breezes. And those talks, endless and so meaningful, talks about everything and anything, that dripped with hazy and squishy teenage philosophy. As we went along the road once, friends together, he asked me what was the most intense of all emotions, and I answered that it was love. But then time flew towards me with beastly wings and hijacked my life of sparkling tenderness, and time in this disguise that was strange to me, was so unbearable that the overarching emotion of my life for quite some time then altered into frustration. Rage, rage against the swarthy abyss into which I had stumbled,and rage against those people who relentlessly thrust me into it. I was suddenly hurled into dark, killing loneliness, and was only seldom allowed escapades into life.<br /><br />Like it happened one evening, when I was part of a group that set out to visit an old age home, where I met so many people and so much agony that I stood paralyzed at how crudely hostile life could sometimes become. And then, as we tried to make their day a little better by simply talking, smiling and plucking guavas from their courtyard, I ended up talking to a grandfather who sat in one corner, with eyes that petrified me with its lack of emotion; there was no joy, no hope, not even pain. It was sheer surrender. But he talked to me, and only talked about his wife, who lived in the women's section, which was a home apart from their's. They lived in a single compound, in homes close by and yet so far from each other. The rules of the place did not allow the grandfathers and grandmothers to meet, and the limitations of the organization struck off the possibility of a grandmother and grandfather living together, even if they had been together for decades, even if it was together that they had once laughed and cried, and together that they had brought up the son who left them there.<br /><br />But then there was God, and God willed that they meet. Every morning the grandfather would smile, talk, and probably there would be in his eyes twinkle, for he got to meet his love every morning for one hour, in the church. I closed my eyes and could see them, wrinkled and tired, snuggling together in the serenity of a church, not bothered about the God that stood before them, the less blessed grandfathers and grandmothers who sat beside them, or the world beyond that conveniently pretended not to see on their faces the seething desire to be there the way they are, for as long as the world remained. For once, I was happy there is God.<br /></span>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-25162781716384349862008-05-04T23:33:00.000-07:002009-06-11T01:51:47.735-07:00The Flower<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBF-x5JBEwUWi1SRUbb9JFpzCrbIfr6mND7hQG7XV_eKzdKyxehkcoYM58Sjw6WfpRv_M8Wq8tnURKc-Lp1o5T71C5XHZQ62Flx6UqcWWKkUWqvPHZfjL7p9dGp4xnB_5O1JOU58SVj0/s1600-h/Rose.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBF-x5JBEwUWi1SRUbb9JFpzCrbIfr6mND7hQG7XV_eKzdKyxehkcoYM58Sjw6WfpRv_M8Wq8tnURKc-Lp1o5T71C5XHZQ62Flx6UqcWWKkUWqvPHZfjL7p9dGp4xnB_5O1JOU58SVj0/s400/Rose.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247679465188760802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" ></span> <div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></div> <div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span class="nfakPe">The</span> <span class="nfakPe">flower</span> was a nymph-like beauty,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Red, Violent, full of love and lust.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> It was born like an expectation, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Out of memory and conviction.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> It had <span class="nfakPe">the</span> memory of</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> A young man who came running,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Smelled, Kissed, then slowly</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Walked back to <span class="nfakPe">the</span> street.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> It had <span class="nfakPe">the</span> conviction that</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> A <span class="nfakPe">flower</span> could metamorphose</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Into a star, with <span class="nfakPe">the</span> roots</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Always wet, deep, knowing.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> And so it lived and lived</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> Until it decided to die soft;</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span class="nfakPe">The</span> petals simply fell out smiling</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> While petals were still revelling.<br /><br /><br />*this poem is dedicated to Aswathy and Chintan, who took great pains to explain to me why and how it is "tellingly erotic"</span><br /></span></div>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-75682795290827878272008-02-29T06:39:00.000-08:002008-08-18T06:11:25.187-07:00About Times....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUeSEJx0l5yZ5J2ZQYjhFVXva5iHVrOFs9xyifqqaJY43x6VOCxqf3zTdOvjrDFmDG5eiclttgOrSVX7GAPFXJxbpRktkOOBp1UCsHI8FmZTQcsx1T02PP_scOrGHo-BWKtYEQs3Fb5o/s1600-h/IMG_3217_ki.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUeSEJx0l5yZ5J2ZQYjhFVXva5iHVrOFs9xyifqqaJY43x6VOCxqf3zTdOvjrDFmDG5eiclttgOrSVX7GAPFXJxbpRktkOOBp1UCsHI8FmZTQcsx1T02PP_scOrGHo-BWKtYEQs3Fb5o/s400/IMG_3217_ki.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235842210585866178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The past-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Simply happened-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Ripples untangled, and refractions</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Stroked my oozing dreams of skies</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">That changed colour, infrequently.</span></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The present-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Came on eerie tip-toes-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Chants of doom on lips</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">That dripped with poisonous elixir,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Your love and mine, blackmagic.</span></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The future-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Gliding grace and our vows-</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">And the camouflage of photographs</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">That shall endorse transformations,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;">But not its eclipsed dimensions.</span></strong></div>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-62501179921376182572008-01-19T23:38:00.000-08:002008-01-19T23:46:54.644-08:00*Butterfly Kiss...<span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>As we went together, yet another time</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>On a butterfly bus, towards fire,</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>To visit the mirage of a dusty library</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>And the enigma of a temple beyond gods, </strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>Beaming at our wings invisible, I</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>Turned towards you, to tell you nothing,</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>Because the voice around would'nt </strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>Let you hear me, and the conversation</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>Somehow continued in a butterfly kiss... </strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><strong>*A butterfly kiss is when you flutter your eyelashes on the other person's cheek:)</strong></span>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-1571108866406072162008-01-12T22:44:00.000-08:002008-12-10T18:26:45.121-08:00Taare Zameen Par...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97fbwLevoDBLq21_TUwopwfFRym0PJX2XAY-EEr4YfvdeGfRximRk4t7Q__im6ZCcbLCzsnMYyxZcgqn_FM9apGvVZe6LRdv_QQDoHjxxlku9fE65uRbkVQqBY1FludpxR1SFfsc6lGE/s1600-h/DSC_0499.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97fbwLevoDBLq21_TUwopwfFRym0PJX2XAY-EEr4YfvdeGfRximRk4t7Q__im6ZCcbLCzsnMYyxZcgqn_FM9apGvVZe6LRdv_QQDoHjxxlku9fE65uRbkVQqBY1FludpxR1SFfsc6lGE/s400/DSC_0499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229591447772046034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Most of the time, I am head over heels in love with life, all its charm and all its madness. But sometimes, <em><strong>Reality</strong></em>, is so gross that it hurls me off my comfort zone of love and safety, and then I am scared of it, when life around me repeatedly reminds me that it takes only a moment for a castle to shatter. But yesterday came a little boy, running trotting and dancing, and the tiny champ made me laugh with him and cry with him. But beyond the experience of having rambled through his world that is woven in all the colours of love, Ishaan is a reassurance. He is now a part of me because he seems to have overcome all his fears and diffidence only to tell me that the ultimate reality is not contained in all the fears that I have accumulated for myself, but in innocence of which there is never going to be a dearth. Ishaan's smile is the twinkle of the stars who have descended on earth to reaffirm our belief in magic and miracles, and we only need to share our handful of stars, with a smile, a touch, a hug, a whisper, a word, and silence.Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752638891358346.post-277149358652287012007-12-05T04:12:00.000-08:002008-12-10T18:26:45.306-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8w1WAYkQ-taMlcK4eY80dLKqbTwNVhDOnRKej6dyAnli3cxBMEp5xhIKP_nZ5lwhe0c4NRjQzF5Z_IsXyrJcL1EjeRri7jBCy8U6rBLc6H6l3OsBwb8N2_fHBFBu-EJkx6G31bOVAhI/s1600-h/IMG_2854.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8w1WAYkQ-taMlcK4eY80dLKqbTwNVhDOnRKej6dyAnli3cxBMEp5xhIKP_nZ5lwhe0c4NRjQzF5Z_IsXyrJcL1EjeRri7jBCy8U6rBLc6H6l3OsBwb8N2_fHBFBu-EJkx6G31bOVAhI/s400/IMG_2854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229577246496057346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">I come from a home<br />That does not believe in remembrances,<br />And you,<br />From one that breathes reminiscences.<br /><br />You barged into my life at a time<br />When I had started to think on paper;<br />Sprouted in me, like a moonlit dream<br />Of love on Manasarovar...<br />Sprinkling into me epiphanies of transcendence.<br /><br />You took me by hand into your past,<br />In to a fairytale that tempted me to forget mine,<br />As they were attempting to transfigure my life<br />Into a confused whirlpool of sleazy death;<br />When pedagogies were urging not to speak<br />Unless it was a revelation,<br />Or blasphemy;<br />When I feared my sight drifting away<br />As voices spoke of seas as symbols,<br />Struggling among worlds of blindness and vision,<br />So that one would not clash with the other.<br /><br />You arrived,<br />To be the insane luxury of my reason.<br />Thankyou, for not taking away my childhood,<br />And those short vacations I took into silence.</div>Kichu & Chinnuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04415900407745241656noreply@blogger.com7