Misery

Misery sits hidden from us at blind spots on traffic lights

It twirls itself in neurons and muscles and cysts and clots

And covers itself under smiling skin and merry songs

And in the house of time, unwelcome, it arrives unannounced picture

It drives us hurriedly to these massive buildings where people pray to human gods

They wear white and blue and their shrine always spots a cross

Where some are hanged and some redeemed

Hospitals are a miserable sight

The siren of the chariot, the ambulance it’s called, is never pleasant.

It declares arrival of mortals to a place where their intellect and power

Plans and stories, all suffer a time lapse

Rewinding their lives, struggling with pain

They sit in corridors where stretchers never lay bare

The reek of medicines, antiseptics, syringes and blood

Floors are always white and you hardly spot any clocks

On walls which drip not with old paint but cement which cries in agony

Hospitals don’t believe in time, they stick a tongue in your face

Saliva results cure or mockery

Photograph by Amitoj Singh

 

 

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Morsels of Dreams?

Fragmented sentences brutally, beautifully, boldly true

Meanings don’t always require tape, adhesive, glue

Hail Woolf, Joyce, prophets few

Freud. Slips of tongue. Dreams. Shoofragmented-dreams

Shoo them away,

You, shoo them away.

Yet mirrors passé, Dreams life’s actual hue

Carefully crafted. Bending phrases. Poetry.

Sue. Sue all poets. Imprison these enchanters.

Sonnets flowing through iron bars.

Cold cemented floors demand inquiring existence

Blooded charcoal answers on stenchy, filthy walls

Hazy manifestations or mildly true?

 

 

Tinging a Tear

Have you ever tried to mix the ink of your pen

tear

into the tear fallen fresh

on your book?

Tinging a tear,

how surreal it sounds,

but try it comrade,

and you will love to see what happens.

How you can modify a bio-chemical reaction

of someone’s action outside your body

How the transparent salty product of your eyes

turns into teal, fuchsia or pitch black

How I wish I could colorize

my thoughts|actions|feelings in the same way

How if I could find a pen,

Whose ink could possess the power to affect me and

transform the work of a mortal.

Ode to my Morrie, Ms. Bindu Sharma

Ode to my Morrie, Ms. Bindu Sharma

-Avleen Kaur Lamba

maam

I’d name this an ode

As it’s a tribute and

Not for its metre and rhyme

Because a radical inhabits in me

And the theme sublime

And the person in mind so divine.

 

My mother dear pursued literature

and so did her mother in her times

After following dad’s software steps,

Accounts and Economics were also given a try

Thus, with apprehensions, I chose literature.

 

But with a glowing lantern in the starry night,

She wiped clean my blurred glasses’ sight

And boy, I fell in love.

 

People say love involves people,

She was there,

But I fell for prose

and I fell for verse.

 

While students cried and mumbled why

It had been three days she hadn’t commenced the syllabi

But couldn’t they feel, couldn’t they yearn,

Life is what we came to learn!

 

She started with music, lyrics and odes,

And then strolled in essays and plays,

Which needless to say,

Clearly swept us away.

 

Donne, Coleridge, Sydney and Bacon,

Are all what they mean to us because of her.

Her words

and her stories.

 

Sitting on the teacher’s table in her crisp saris

This maverick hypnotized us

And we reached a heaven full of

Greek Gods and English Romantics.

 

Tears cover my eyeballs

as I sit to write about a Goddess

remembering times when my hands

won’t stop scribbling every word she uttered

And then times I would just sit awestruck

Now I lie down on the winter grass,

Wondering how God could bestow me with so much luck!

 

Her words and life lessons

Are a part of me now

And they shall remain within

wherever I go.

 

For how love always wins,

For the phoenix riddle,

For death ending life, not a relationship,

For Tess and for Sorrow,

For Wuthering Heights and their terrible morrow,

For all of that and so much more,

How you’ll glow within me,

Forever and some more.

I’m afraid of people who hide

I’m afraid of people who hide
-Avleen
I assumed I was mature enough to handle what people felt,
To know what they actually meant behind those carefully chosen words.
To comprehend what their big eyes were hiding behind the lying lids,
What would turn out to be when those colored curtains were raised?
What dreadful magic would those corneas posses?

What image would I see of myself?

But I’m afraid. I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of those who choose not to vent out,
You may scream and shout at me, and tell me how you feel.
You may curse too, but let me know what’s in your mind.
For I dont fear pain. Of any kind.
I don’t fear loss, or death.
All I fear is people who don’t speak their heart out.
For I have no clue what would follow.
A serene mirage or an erupting volcano?

Noon Rush

Noon Rush
A weekday it was I’m sure,
Crossing the road, right in the middle I stood,
Couldn’t traverse the streets, the road was full.
After a score of minutes from noon the time stopped,
I couldn’t move an inch from that white painted equator.
Wondering what all these people were upto.
Cycles, rickshaws, bikes and cars, what work did they peform that time.
Toddlers coming back from preschool in buses,
A man taking his sick wife to the doctor,
Ladies car pooling for a kitty coffee.
A young fellow following a maid,
Some tax officers in a jeep planning a raid.
Soon, noon rush didn’t quite appeal to me.
But I found a kid who held my hand,
Planted a kiss on my confused cheek,
Said tomorrow at the same time he would meet.
Taught me life could surprise anytime.
Little packets of hope and glimmer shining through the scorching heat.

Pact Unpacked

Of the same dough we belonged,

Got the same amount of sugar and flavor,

Went through all processes together

But sooner put in different moulds,

Of the same tray, thank God.

I kept moving up in bubbles to peek at her,

To see whether she was feeling as hot as me.

But soon the warmth felt good,

Knowing she was just beside,

Sooner we were packed into packets of six,

Being the seventh one, I belonged to another pack

But the god loving machine had a fault,

and I was pushed in her pack again.

She was happy that a kid would love the surprise.

Yet when our pack was opened,

The kid bit into her, rejoiced her taste

I couldn’t bear the pain anymore,

Wanted to be torn apart and mix with

her, lessen her pain.

But she was gone and I was dipped

In milk and I preferred dissolving there.