Tap Tap
I knock the door as lightly as possible.
“I’m coming”, she murmurs in her half-sleep.
I wait.
My bags are packed,
They try to contain a massive weight of unspoken sadness.
“Is it time already?” – her words wail
Through the thin air of the living room,
Those pink lips move in slow motion
As she whispers in a baby voice.
Her eyes still dripping sleep;
Her hair, all woolly and tossed up —
A glorious flow of brown curls.
She stands there glowing
Like a Goddess from an ancient folk tale.
And in that fragile, decisive moment,
I know —
She is Love.
The taxi honks downstairs,
It has no time for love stories.
I pick up my bags, tie my shoelaces.
She waits at the door step —
A fog of melancholy surrounds us.
I try to force a smile,
She does not.
Instead, she pulls me in her arms
Embracing me in an everlasting bond.
I surrender to her, submerge in her soft body,
Her divine smell.
Time weaves an eternal moment around us
And I whisper in her ear,
“I promise, I will return to you.”
At the break of dawn
When the taxi drops me at the airport,
I know the jetplane will fly a little light this morning
As it will carry an empty me —
For I have torn my heart out and
Gave it as an offering
To Bacchante the beautiful,
Goddess of Love from an ancient folk tale.
Featured artwork: Bacchante (1899) by William Adolphe Bouguereau
Remember who you are
Remember where you’re going
Remember what you loved
Remember what made you happy
Remember your friends
Remember your fears
Remember how you got here
Remember to let go
Remember your lovers
Remember to love
Remember
Featured artwork: Once Upon A Time by Shamsia Hassani
The burrito looks inviting
It promises to be promiscuous
I dont have time for that
Me and the cheddar on your nachos
Are busy melting right now
Half a decade back
I met a girl at your mother’s place
In Kobilisy
A hint of her permeates this Cuban joint
In the grain of your voice
In the frail of your poise
You eat your nachos in a languid pace
Your strength is your kindness
Meanwhile in a spacetime bubble
A lion is awakened underneath my skin
He wants to claw at your waist
Gnaw at your breast
Cherry pies and pillow talks
A daydream foams on my beer
I dismantle you on the table
Play with your innards for a while
It’s still a dark dream
But the brighter part of it is lit up by you
Oh, I can live with that
Time settles on your nail glitter
I glide, I glide
I surf through your eyelashes
Florenc…Flora…Andel…
Right then, at an unguarded moment
My eyes betray my well kept secret
And you call my bluff
Well, fuck it,
Since when was a man able to hide his love?
Half a decade later
I’m still in love with that girl
I met at your mother’s place
In Kobilisy
Note: Florence, Flora, Andel and Kobilisy are different parts of Prague. Featured artwork sourced from Pinterest
4 years back in 2014, after being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder type II and a severe clinical depression I was casually advised by my psychiatrist to write as a therapy. So in May 2014 I decided to open an account on WordPress and see if I can write something.
I must confess that I do not see myself as a true author, poet or even a blogger. I am a professional filmmaker, I make my living by writing advert copies and feature screenplays, and direct them for screen. But back in 2014, when I returned from Prague after finishing the film school, I was really down. I had a bad break up with my Russian ex-girlfriend and I was struggling to cope with the sudden changes. I started to write as an effort to preserve myself from my self-destructing thoughts.
Initially I started to write about what I knew most: Cinema and the art of it. Eventually I started writing poems, and some journals covering various things that interests me including wildlife and physics, sometimes short essays. Gradually I started to enjoy the process.
Since I am primarily occupied in the film business and also because I am too lazy, my poems/blogs are sporadic to say the least. To be honest I feel as an outsider in this beautiful community of amazing writers, poets and generally committed bloggers. But I love to be a part of it.
In 2015 I moved to Mumbai. During 2015 to 2016 I wrote and directed a lot of commercials and Television promos. In 2017 I wrote and directed my first feature film KARMA IS A SHE-WOLF which has been sold for distribution. Hopefully it will get a theatrical release this year. In the second part of 2017 and 2018 I was in Poland filming an Indo-Polish collaboration. Currently I am rewriting the draft of FM, which hopefully will be my next film. With all this chaotic happenings in my life I tend to skip blogging or writing poems, and I do not see myself becoming a consistent blogger anytime soon.
Today WordPress informed me that its 4 years that I have been on this platform and it made me happy for some reason. So I did an analysis of my blogs. 4 years, 175 blogs. On an average its 1 blog per 8 point something days. Not too bad to be honest, but yes the numbers could been much better. Good thing is I am in love with an amazing person from Prague, and that always make me write more. So lets see.
I have been reading on WordPress all these years and I found some amazing bloggers and their beautiful minds, made some friends, some acquaintances. So I would like to thank everyone who has ever interacted with me here, shared their struggles and fights, heartbreaks and solitude with me. Some of you have been very kind and supportive to my poems, and I truly appreciate you. You have been terrific and I am glad to be a part of your beautiful community. Thank you.
PS: The top picture is a screenshot from my film KARMA IS A SHE-WOLF. You can catch the trailer on YouTube:
Being nineteen is magick
She is a girl, she is a woman
A quiet contradiction…or is she?
Her contours run through the Kalahari
Her contours breathe, they writhe
A wisp of lust seeps from her kiss
She marinates her lover’s tongue
They squiggle, they writhe
Two eels coil in the warmth of a tropical ocean
Twisting…turning…mellow burning
Volcanoes erupt in her body
Wildfire rages her skin
A whirlwind, a metaphor
A quite rose on the screen door
Being nineteen is magick
A crude grin of mischief
A rude power of sorcery
At nineteen she is a girl
At nineteen she is a Goddess
Featured Artwork: Portrait Of A Young Girl (1933) by Tamara De Lempicka
He was dark and brooding
She was stolid and light
They sat in a quiet disquiet
As the night tram cut through
A snow covered Prague
Nothing mattered anymore
He didn’t say a word
And yet –
She knew.
Photograph curated from internet, unable to locate the copyright owner, no infringement intended.
