BFPIII: Summer Rain

Another blast from the past– this time one of my own.   Not too impressive, but its nice to sometimes notice those moments of being caught in between two worlds.

Summer Rain

Warm summer rain,
humid and pleasant,
and a light cool breeze,
caressing my skin,
the light pitter patter,
of drops as they fall,
the familiar drone,
of an air conditioner at work,
and an enthralled me,
in an open doorway
between the two worlds:
of nature,
and my apartment!

Metaphors

I like to believe that similarities exist all around us, if only we look closely enough.  Do I really see things the way I describe them below?  Who knows?  However, the narrator of the poem (I’m the author, not the ‘narrator’ – he’s a fictional character that you don’t get to know more about ) apparently does, and all because he studied the river flowing for quite some time!

Like most of my blog posts, this one also has a few rough edges around it as of now, hopefully, I’ll smooth them out sometime soon.

Metaphors

Schools of fish,
dancing currents,
and colorful pebbles
being carried forth
for short distances
by the river
come to mind
as I watch people bustling
through a shopping mall
on a busy day,
and suddenly I wonder
about other parallel worlds
that co-exist
with the river
flowing before my eyes.

The Sleep Eater

Ever woken up all night watching something that you wanted to see till the end?  I have, several times!  The sleep eater: a wonderful servant, and a terrible influence (at times!).

The Sleep Eater

Beautiful stories
come to life
in flowing colors
and lifelike sound,
and make me forget
myself
as I gaze
into a crystal screen
hypnotized
throughout the night
until morning comes
and I realize
that the sleep eater
has once again
eaten my dreams
leaving in their stead
a throbbing headache
and reality!

Note: I might re-edit this sometime in the future: this was just an effort once again, to write something at the last moment!

An Unwilling Composition

I think I missed a deadline by a few hours this week: the about section says: “Friday evening or Saturday morning”, but its a bit past morning this Saturday.   However, I have an excuse .. I was sleeping all morning, well into the day today, and wrote this quite early when you consider when I woke up, so here goes!

Note: Make sure you do read to the end: Its not as pointless as it seems (or is it… :S)

An Unwilling Composition

Unwilling,

or perhaps unable,

to weave new words

into a fabric

that they call

a composition,

but driven to write,

out of a sense

of duty,

and restricted in choices

by a need

for originality,

I write down something

that looks like a poem

when viewed from afar,

though my words,

may actually be

no more than a sentence

broken down into lines

to form a pattern

that looks like a poem.

Who knows?

A Paper Flower

A Paper Flower

Green, shiny, and light,

a slightly fragrant box,

sitting among many others,

in a shop shelf,

with contents

that must be delivered

to its target:

just some passerby

who will randomly prefer it,

pick it up,

use its contents,

and discard the box itself:

a flower,

of human consumerism.

Poem

One of my first poems on the internet.. written way back in 2004!

Poem

Jumbled up
As always
I want to write a poem
About beautiful things
A poem
That would go down into history
And the hearts of my readers
Making everyone see
The beauty in life.
And I start writing
Incoherent thoughts
That are as undisciplined as the mind that writes it
Ambitious beyond my wildest dreams,
And as lazy as a couch potato
They come flowing forth
Like the water flowing through tukucha
Except that tukucha flows, and they trickle
Yes, I have written a poem
That will never have to undergo that change
That they call a revision
And my seed of thought
Will amuse a few
Baffle a few
And irritate a few
As it sits in the pages of cyberspace
Proudly saying that it exists
To every passing web crawler
Another link in the cyberspace,
Another food for thought
To undernourished minds looking for stimulation
Hail to cyberspace
Hail to internet freedom of speech.

Dances in the Wind

A moving picture

of laughing children,

excited, and full of energy

shouting, pointing, dancing around,

running from there to here, then there again,

and going around,

in circles at times,

comes to mind,

when I see

joyful dances

by brown leaves

on a concrete street,

blown around by a strong-ish wind:

the life force

of the dances

and I wonder

at how alive they seem!

A Poem on a Poem

Common words

uncommonly placed:

with multiple meanings

that change

like patterns in a kaleidoscope

under a glancing eye:

a poem

that is easy to enjoy,

but difficult to comprehend!

The Seed of Growth

What was once

a hard brown shell

shiny and smooth,

small, but strong,

crumbles away

into the soil,

apparently lost,

except for a tiny flame

hiding within,

its deepest core

a seed that will grow

into a tree one day.

Blindness

Blindness

I see plants dancing in the wind,

while my friend

sees a plain green landscape

that is no different

from so many others.

Who is blind? I wonder:

is it he..

who does not see the plants dancing joyfully in the wind,

or me, who do not hear his thoughts,

flowing, but in a different land,

or is it the mind,

unaware

of a story told,

through every gesture,

throughout the moments,

if only it listened

carefully enough

If both people are blind, who is more so? Can that distinction even be made? How? What makes the distinction? (I do have an answer in mind that I choose to leave unwritten).