For you.

"The emperor reached for the jade bird
with glittering golden eyes,
he pleaded for it to sing,
his eyes glittered with tears.
The potter looked down at broken fragments
of an urn
too shattered to be kept,
yet too precious to be thrown.
The seagulls rose, they flew and dived
into the winds
across the oceans of eternity...
they mocked the passing clouds
and soared to the top of the sky.
Solomon walked on the gold dust
of the scattered sand of the desert
restless and shifting...
A treasure trove of mirages and oases.
Ask me why the nightingale sang?
Ask me why the potter stared?
Ask me where seagulls go?
Ask me where the desert water lies?
These are but unknown words
for unknown emotions.
Ask me why I write."

Read this poem when I was in school and liked it enough to save it all these years. No clue as to who wrote it....Anyway, why do I write? Raneedi declared "I write because I can." I admire the confidence but I lack such conviction, I do not have such lien over my words....my words tumble out, at times sloppily, at times smoothly until I gather them up and make them stand like soldiers in the dark...quiet and still...waiting for opportunities such as this!
I write because I like to. You, dear reader, may not like my words but then I enjoy the process, my words melting and molting onto my page.
My father never read any of my poetry. So my favourite critic has never been there to share my thoughts...do you think he'd approve? Thing is, by the time I found refuge in poetry, actually fancied my verse, he was already gone....
They say people come into our lives for a reason. Manish was there to make me write poetry...he studied in AFMC, I met him through common friends. He had this habit of constantly scribbling bits of blank verse on bits of paper and a small notebook he carried around with him.... I was fascinated and impressed...later I found a lot of the verses were "borrowed" from Vikram Seth but at the time it was irrelevant...a whole new dimension had opened up for me! This Manish started me onto writing and thinking in verse...It came easy....the words just fell into place and there you go...another thought taking wing!
I knew Manish for a very short time, he wasn't the military type and paid his way out of the army and disappeared back into oblivion....But sometime after college was over and I was working and trying to live a routine disciplined life, I wrote a poem for him...which of course it never found its way to him. And today, I think this poem is not just for Manish, it's for every friend who has ever liked a word of what I've written, ever shared their comments or ever encouraged me. So.... to Vani and Re...for the first faltering steps....Vaishali, my constant reader...Ted, for sharing the hurt....Raka, my second favourite critic.....Rini, for weathering the storms.... Isha for the tears that roll down her cheeks when I read out some of my poems....for Aimee who likes to be part of everything, whether she figures it out or not...Amitesh who doesn't always understand my strangeness but plays along...for my inconstant muse, you know who you are.......for every follower on this blog ...to all the kind friends and strangers who have ever bothered to leave a comment....and for everyone in my life who have helped me become the person I am today!Cheers!

TO A FELLOW POET
Digging through the rubble
of the disaster I call my life,
I chance upon poems 'for Ipsi'
only you spell it with an 'i'.
Wishing back all the days
of RCs and watermelon juice
those long drives and longer nights
searching for our lives' muse...
Wonder what you're doing now
wonder where life's taken you,
if you're content with why you are
or doing like I do.
Yes, I'm doing what I wanted to,
or so I say, law keeps me happy
occupied and beyond reach
at least I pretend its that way.
Court and chamber, chamber and court
did i say I was happy? I lied
I try so hard not to hear
the familiar music of the night.
Poetry is out, dying but not quite so
lame excuses suffice for the lack of verse
still there are times I can't think in prose
yes, you could say it is a curse.

Enough of this self indulgence though,
I shall not take more time,
suitably chastised, yes I'm broken
sometimes life ceases to rhyme
if there is anything at all
I have done to cause you hurt,
some silly joke or ridicule,
or maybe something worse...
I apologise, yes I do and
yes, even I do cry sometimes
Would love to hear from you...
so please won't you write?