Friday, December 30, 2011

Happy New Year

And when that fiery ball
Gradually plunges down into the lap of earth
The cosmic rhythm does not change
The sound of life is just the same
The wind that whistles through leaves
Sings the song heard before
The needle of the clock
Marches to the old beat
The evening brings with it
A change we’ve never felt before
We have in our hearts
Thoughts in new avatars
Desires bathed in fresh hues
And if you listen intently
You will hear the sound of the rose bud unfurling its petal
One by one
In the garden of your heart
2012 is right there..Happy new year to you!

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

living in the unknown


 Impermeable is the stone
That lies on the bank of the river
Washed ashore
Tossed by waves
Or disentangled by the web of a wild creeper that held it in place
All these years
Now shrivelled up
has lost its grip
let go
it whispered in the ears of the stone
impermeable it is
yet the edge of my gaze
 peel s it
and holds it captive without touching it
under the hard crust lies a world
soft and vulnerable
changes hues with changing winds
it is a sponge
absorbs all crimson fumes from the fires that burn it
impermeable is it?


Concrete tears

And I was the only one
With a brittle bottle of molten liquid
And they had embossed
all over their bodies
Graphite graphics of a gory past
Oblivious to the whispers of snow
Sensing the silence of the valley
They heard the raging of storms in their hearts
A lost soul
Reached out an empty hand
To moisten parched lips
Saying inaudible prayers
Bits of glass that once held in its depth
now frozen into diamonds

Friday, December 9, 2011

Ghazala's Meanderings: The Woman at the Traffic Signal

Ghazala's Meanderings: The Woman at the Traffic Signal: THE WOMAN AT THE TRAFFIC SIGNAL Five flyovers away was the library My life raced on the wheels of my red car The steering wheel under my h...

The Woman at the Traffic Signal


Five flyovers away was the library
My life raced on the wheels of my red car
The steering wheel under my hands
Thoughts drifted and melted  away
Like the traffic passing by
And then a missed turn
Just four flyovers
And  I thought it was five
Sometimes lazy thoughts make you miss
The signposts
They mock and laugh at your distractions

I took the side road
where the traffic signal stopped my tracks
It was then that I saw her
Salt and pepper hair
Dark skin ,a tweed shawl draped around her form
A brown bag hung like a beaver bird’s nest on a frail branch
One hand entwined around the strap to hold it in place
Another ,holding a long cylindrical pack
She was elegant
Her body language
Her winning smile
More sophisticated than the woman in chiffons
In a black Honda city
No obvious sign of dejection when the thick,oily man in the hyndai accent
Shrugged his shoulders and waved her away
So thick were his shoulders that only the movement of the crisp white collars up and down
Suggested his indifference to her presence
So thick was her presence that I kept looking at her
The smile on her countenance was wane
She came closer
I saw her eyes
Limpid pools with a lustreless twinkle
Blurred by the haze of the early morning fog
It was 9 am
Please pull down the window pane... she gestured
The foggy eyes became vividly clear as I rolled the screen down
That was the only shield that separated us.
The two sides
And a  door
Please buy these incense sticks
But I don’t really need them
My voice sounded alien to my ears as my hand reached out to the zip of my bag
They’re special
Rose and musk and chamomile
40 rs
I’ll take it for 30
The smile ,the eyes,
She was beautiful
Serenity ,her forehead revealed
Though ravages of time had left deep gullies on her face
I took two packs
The light turned green
The incense sticks lay on the seat beside me

The musty smell of books in the library
40 rs..linguistic psychology
They’re special..hmm
Brian Tomlinson..Materials Development..language teaching
Rose and musk and chamomile
The silence in the library was deafening
My ear drums were pounding
I picked up my bag

Back home,a coffee mug in my hands
I wait for my family
In the beaver bird’s nest
The feathered lives return to the cozy comfort of their homes
They will be back soon
My anchors in life
I casually touch my hair
Fragrance of lime and apple in the shampoo
Refresh my senses
They are lustrous and black
They will be salt and pepper one day

In my living room,
the incense stick makes swirling patterns in the air

 Ghazal..10.12.11 ( i saw heron my way to the library..she has left an indelible impact on my mind.the fragrance of musk and rose reminds me of her)

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Dreams and reality

They say the fairy godmother made a mistake.Or was it deliberate?

 The shoe, had it fitted Cinderella perfectly,should not

 have fallen off.But it did.It eventually led to the dream quest.The

 prince searched every nook and corner to find the perfect

 fit.Was the fairy chuckling away behind the clouds?I bet she was.

Cinderella floated between realilty and dream,just as Alice did in

 wonderland.What about us?The distance between our

 dreams and reality is life.


Sketches in literature

Sketches in literature : Shamim Hanafi writes definitive profiles of writers, evaluating their contribution