The Shade

With your love my dear sun ~ I color myself so green ~ so green.

The leafy tree at Lumbini

Reminded me of you~

You were absent there and I was so alone ~

Hold on

While sitting under it ~

The shade of your love was overshadowed by tree..

December Tears

November ended with rain – But December gave more pain. Another number in calendar waits to be changed. The passed year is not going to come over again. The cold air outside is freezing  Kathmandu and day by day it  is getting cooler and colder. This heater really works as it burns and heats me up and the cold room.

The chits-chats are locked in the walls or are flown away from the window pane. The call unanswered. The call ignored. The talk so indifferent. The text messages unseen.

A novel yet to be completed ~ Anna Karenina — Oh how I love this love story. But this romantic tragedy pleases me.

One poem by Elizabeth Bishop reminds me always to master the art of losing. I do a lot to adopt this habit or to master the art of losing. Gradually, I am doing. People laughed at me while I lost a cell-phone for the first time ~ I was so normal. But I loved that phone, the snake game was very easy time -pass and I was after all the highest scorer and the “Snake Master”. But nothing pinched me.

And the right-eye is paining because of cold-infection. Every thing is over crowded ~ eyes are overcrowded with the tiny hot salty stream. But the sun has dried it ~ the stream is seasonal. Kohl – plays a great role – it becomes a dam. A strong one. But the eye-colors -I dislike them- they are for happy occasion- but kohl it is for every occasion.

A long walk along busiest New Road — aches the ankle, but the indifference seen pains the heart more. An old woman is seen burning a tiny piece of news paper, and tries to ease the cold, the mother of 3 ~ unknown who’s the father console herself in begging ~ I walk indifferent ~ so indifferent.

A far long wait for December ~ it tears apart the years.

December came with no delight. The wait for it was futile…totally futile.

 

When November Rains …

Guess What?

Incessant in my mind were you — almost for all the time as it rained and is raining so often this November. I know we both would have waited for the rain– desperately to unfold the memories yet again–but it rained a lot ~ it pained a lot. I feel same as you do ~ We both enjoyed the rain– memorizing each other yet again. The days are getting cold and nights chilly but the warmth of the ecstatic days remains the same. It comes back ~ time and again~ memories always remain.

How I would always be jealous of your snowing town? How would I be jealous of your feeling of cold? I always waited for your coming to my city ~ for the cups and cups of warm black coffee. Do you remember~ how would we scare the waiter after having ten straight cups of black coffee? Our favorite place stands still~ but will never see us together there.

The wait remains same with the confirm notion that you will never come again. Things change~ I know ~ I know, circumstances changes~ I know this as well. But the season see ~ it is back again. With it’s return ~ it brings you back again. But, at the same time for years you kept your promise not to come back again~ I had accepted it ~ I have supported it.

With rain~you come again~memories of being together~ and painful awareness of losing you forever ~everything comes at once.

Who am I?

By Ankur Sharma ...

When sowed inside the soil,

I was a male

With Proud seed

And Power to create

And earth was a female

With an open part

Easily accessible.

Earth kept me inside the womb,

Until I sprouted out in the upper part of the world.

I grew up green…

Transformed into a female being…

Now, I am a female-: they say

I have to give birth..

I was male -: I complain…

They say -: You have both parts…

The male and the female

Who am I ? Who am I ?

I am a female today…

Leaf after leaf I shed,

Pollination occurs so often and so open

Breaking

The long saved wall called virginity

I give “births” not to one but many

Homos take out one at a time from single hole..

But me,

I take out thousands in my body’s whole..

Here comes November …

Two days left ~November will come again with same gloom and sweet feverish pain. Here comes November~here comes memories ~here you come back again. Here comes November at the door and it knocks. Can you hear the knocking of the November? I can feel it and I can hear it because November revives you in me when it rains. It is so original and so live. It moves in circle and it never ends, yes I am talking about the months and seasons ~ they move all the time. Sometimes you are December ~ you are so cold, sometimes you are April ~ so live…and sometimes you are June-July ~ so wet and sometimes you are November ~ so mine.

You remember the rain in April ~ when we met for the first time and do you remember the cold November rain when you crossed the Rubicon. You went away with a promise~ while we were having bitter espresso~your promise was bitter than espresso that day ~ you were never coming back.  And, it rained that day outside and inside. I did not show water in the eyes you loved most ~ it would have made your departure painful.

Sometimes you are November ~ so mine…

A Grain

A Grain...

You are so tiny little thing

So strong to you hold our life in you

You grow yourself up into many like you

We fill us with you every time

We chew you, swallow your presence

We then release you as a dirt

Yet you continue to grow yourself for “US”

Eternally as you grow

We grow too

We grow old and die

But you grow for eternity…

( Written to mark BlogActionDay 2011, Happy World Food Day, Don’t waste a grain ..it means a lot to a lot of people)

The Spider

Photo by: Ankur Sharma

Jealous, I am

With you Spider,

For being mightier than me

To create beautiful silky world.

You have been gifted

With the spinnerets,

Poor Me — I lack them.

I envy your artistic-ness

By which you draw your silky world,

With the fizz of your invisible tongue,

How strong the silk threads are, I imagine!

To hold the precious diamond- dews, till they vanish!

Your web glows with the diamond windows,

That spells me

An orb of yours,

A World of yours,

A home of yours,

That always spells me!

(Written with the spell of the above  picture of spider web )

Balloons and Dreams

Published in “The Kathmandu Post” on OCT 02 -
Ama did daddy beat you again,” asks my ten year old son. I have no answer. I keep quiet. He asks again, “Ama did daddy came home drinking?” I say, “I am preparing your omelet honey.”

My tears come faster than his. I hide them, but he sees the bruise under my eye.

I shall break my silence

*Yes, the father of this child had punched me in my eye yesterday night.*

Sanu touches my bruise and cries yet again. “Sanu, I will take you and Munu out for ice-cream today,” I console him.

*I’ve told him many times that the baby we just aborted was “his”; he does not believe this.  It was painful for me, killing my life for him. He did not care; for him, that life wasn’t his.*

“Whore, you go away with the one you slept with,” he says this; always.

* I have been married for seventeen years now. Yet, my husband beats me and asks me who the man I “slept with” is. It had always been him. Had I not slept with you over your desires? Had I not slept with you on days I was peeing blood? When after all when, had I disagreed over your desire of making love?  I had felt raped almost every time.

On wonderful evening

A hot cup of black coffee

Molecules inherent of your memories,

I drink the drops alone,

Full of you.

Do you remember that warm evening?

After espresso we were departing,

Inbox(5)

The sun it rises and it sets

In my prison all is dark !(Lower Depths, Maxim Gorky)

Dear Friend,

It has been long that I wrote you. Most of time mood swings and while I try to write something to you, I end up doing something else. The post Beijing days have been really very hard because all the things are bumping like never before. I have been restless. Totally restless. I have lost myself to many extents these days. But what kind of busy I am, I really don’t know.

Without you all life is solitary…and I have started living with this Pipe Dream. It is really very fantastic to live with pipe dream. I get relieved.

You know leading a solitary life is so hard but so obvious; there is no other way at all. I am so used to doing things alone and yes without you and without your involvement in everything.