Author Archives: Suhas Chavan

Rainy Days

a poem by

Its raining!
Heavy,
Vulgar Wetness
dripping
slowly,
like
Lifeblood
oozing gently
along a
pulsating
cut wrist.
Dripping!
Drip,
Drip,
Drip!
A lone bird
shivering:
Blasphemously
cursing it’s
World-
a leaden,
tormenting
Sky!
If only it
could soar
beyond the wet?
Dripping,
Drip,
Drip,
Drip!
But…
A lonely poet
watching,
His heart
misunderstood,
Never understood!
Dripping,
Drip
Drip,
Drip!
But…
A Lover
pining
in the dawn Breeze;
Hurt his
Shadow
like the
gangrenous
Orange-green
of a
windswept
dying Life.
Only to be
resurrected
in Pain,
at each moment!
Dripping,
Drip,
Drip,
Drip!
But…

Nissim Ezekiel

a poem by

He passed on;
Literary world
in tatters:
Not that it never was.
Only,
He made big
difference!
Irani hotel
missing him
Chandu waiter
tearfully says;
In dumb Mumbai’s
bylanes
a part of him
lies still;
Cry, cry for him,
the Sonata of
soaring:
Timeless Nissim’s
pigeons
outside the window
on Marine Drive!

Hating Life

a poem by

Hate me,
My Soul;
Oh my Soul,
hate me;
Meandering past
The fulfillment of
Your Course
Hate me,
Hate me
if you could,
this enuchness;
Hurt me
if You can.
See
I am Insipid,
Weak
Imbecile;
Pull me out
of that Mould;
Ah,
am I hurt;
Angst fills
my very Being.
Shallowness
still hurts my
Breathing
You in!
I hate
You,
Life!
You have made me
What I am
Today;
I hurt from those
Stabbing Pains:
Pains of being unable,
Unable to hate
Myself;
Finish
perhaps
that very breath
which holds me
Hostage to
being a
Part of You!

The Sound of Music

a poem by

The Voice of Girija
the Soul of Bismillah
wake me up;
Hey, where am I?
I casually tried
treading Fear;
Those narrow blackened
Corridors of Time;
and
Where am I
today?
Have I
already
reached
my Time
or
do You hate me for what
I really am?
the One,
and only One,
the Untouchable
the copulating
untouchable;
who
touches you where
(even now, after so long!)
You denyingly
Love it
the most?
That afternoon Sky
blinds,
hurts;
like scabs
opening to
the morning Mist,
Were You among
the Faithful
or wasn’t I?
Hey,
where am I?
Lost at some crossroads;
perhaps,
of undulating Time
that classical
Prostitute
standing her last
Tears,
the redness of somebody’s lips
greasing Her’s,
her writhing Hips,
her bloodied Tomb;
at the aplomb
of our Hatred,
our Separation,
our
Curse?
Perhaps,
Girija knows
and
Bismillah sounds
like a lonely Azaan
amidst
the blood-stained
Hills of Misfortune;
As if,
You weren’t You
and I never
knew Myself!
I really
loved You!

Do I Care?

a poem by

Who knows
“What”
‘Tomorrow’ brings?
Whether the same Flower
is visited
by the same Bee
or by some
Maverick, perhaps;
Like Me?
(a persistent question,
always!)
Raising Hopes
of surviving
everyday’s Professional Hell!

Who knows
“What” happens ‘Tomorrow’?
Whether the same Cloud
floats over the same Azure
(same Angle, Last. Long.
exclaim
the Enlightened!-
fascinating Game of mapping
and indulging;
it’s all the same!)
Or is it just that
I dream
it happens?
Perhaps “It” does!

Who knows
is ‘It’
the same Wind
fuelling the same bylanes;
raising the same Dust
of yester-years
I recognised Today;
Suddenly!

Who knows?
Are
these the same Dreams
of Survival
(what do I
eat tomorrow,
Please?)
Now gloating,
bloating
and
feeding on
the Carcass of
narcissist
Promises,
blatant, blissful,
unfulfilled, perhaps-
and
Altogether
really
Empty?
Where is the Lover
The Whore, the Beloved?
Where are the Led (the baskets, the fish)
and Where is the Messiah?
(Core Question?)

Who knows
where the Morrow
is?
The Lover
I caress
daily;
while confessing
certain
preconditions
(and rather
Leftist ones at that)
that I must tread
toes
to be Acknowledged
and Recognised.

Hoping

a poem by

I dance
my dreams
to the silvery
moonbeams of
yesterday’s
meeting:
that fleeting touch,
that soft glance
tears wiped away
together,
an eternity
of belonging;
and,
perhaps,
yes ‘perhaps’,
to count magic
in the
autumn leaves
slowly straying
like drifts
of unforgettable music
in the soft dawn breeze;
just ahead about me,
(somewhere)
heralding that
narrowing bend
of life,
autumn perhaps?
Making me reach out
and hold,
futilely, foolishly;
longing
for you
over and over again,
as if
cheating disappointment
at it’s own wily game,
knowing
you
will
never come.
Still
I want to reach you
and hold you close
in the strongest of wishes;
closer and still
closer
and savour dusty,
tear-streaked emotions
(long ignited and now stilled,
stubborn, dreary soot
around that worn-out wick,
it’s not going away!)
born out of nothingness
and
the beauty
of your soft,
hopeful
hazel eyes
which knew me once
to cajole
my meagre existence
into a meaning of sorts.
I still
long to hold you
so close,
so very close
that in our oneness,
even our eyes would see
and
yet perfect
the dream we shared.
Make haste hence,
for the road is long
and unknown;
make haste
for the light is dim
and lingering
behind are
terrible shadows
which would never permit me
rest.

Rainbows and Magic

a poem by

Flecks of glassy colour imprinted
on a Maiden’s breast,
of Love and Kisses and Dreams galore;
of wanting her own
and surviving
her Destiny best,
Ah Indian woman, Sati herself
redeemed in the cauldrons of Yama’s Hell!
Green and Red the eternal Saubhagyavati,
Ochre, Ice and the fickle Violet,
Crimson and Yellow;
And White – her mood,
Her shadows reflect
The Mother, Sister honoured above Self,
The Wife, the Lover – Meera and Radha
Incarnate,
The magic of Love,
the cradle of Compassion
clad in Blue of the
‘Teresa stare’
Ah Woman,
like those myriad Whirlpools of broken
Light,
cast your colours
in the Life of Infinity!!!

Unknown Soldier at Kargil

a poem by

A lonely brier
came uphill
and
suddenly
all was cold
and
deathly still.
A lonely soldier lay there
covered with blossoms,
many and rare;
their fragrance could but
never dispel
many a fear
and a tear
that rose in sharp sequel.
They say he vanquished fifty foe
all alone
never stooped below,
took them on
till the very end,
till Death was satiated
and pain
laboured in vain.
The Gulmohar breathed
bloody tears on him,
below
the shadowy breeze sang it’s dirge
of death.
The Champaka cast down
its’ flowers
as if to say
“Lie still now, martyr,
for all is well;
the heights are taken
the enemy vanquished,
so lie still, martyr,
for all is well.”

Goan Garden

a poem by

Daring,
soft pink roses
(“almost white!” says Mr. Nervekar
gardener supreme!)
Lozenge drops,
Passion streaks
hurtling themselves
at that dusky
awning Neel-Leela,
(Like Flamingo-isles
standing stupefied,
Lost Dewdrops
in the
Salty Umber of
the Kutch of Raan.)
The Sea crooning softly,
somewhere beyond the palms
sushsushing me, lulling in
a drowsiness of lethargious
Calm
Restoring a Sanity
already perfected
by that divine Nautch-girl,
sweet, dancing “Cashew-Feni”!
Perfect setting
for the Budgeriars
at play.
My yellow and white budgies
Tintin and Ginseng
bosom buddies, arch-rivals
ever-spiralling playmates
of a
World of feathery dreams
and sunflecked
Toddy groves;
Alighting like errant Snowflakes
on the brilliant red carnations.
Oh, did we forget Mantu;
That shaitani
tan streak of funny
sad eyes,
and a wet, lopsized tongue
that makes up for Everything,
My Garden,
World,
My Tanhai…

As usual

a poem by

I watched the soft Dawn
caress
the contours of that emerald
canvas;
Peeking, as usual,
rather sedately
around the corners;
Unerring everyday
diplomacy (in the office)!
I watched those feathery trails
making their way rather
indifferently,
Those undecipherable, tiny dots
and
I realised
Pathways known and
cruised along never
afford
Indulgence.
I saw the boatman pull up
his oars
as the mast filled up
with self-importance.
Did it heed it’s lover,
the Wind – eternal Mystic
or
was it playing along
coy Mistress
to the dark Waters,
as usual?
Going about
devoid of
that Spark of Life
or just apathy
to plain Feeling?
Reminiscing-
Pale coffee
and pallid cigarette smoke
every single
moment,
monotonously
carrying the Burden
of my
everyday’s oxygenated
Shadow.

Swaying to Evening’s Patiala

a poem by

Stealing Glances, disapproving,
reeling,
recline steadily at my feet today.
High held heads bow low
subjugatively, (if I may say).
Emeralds and coral,
Diamond, sapphire and gold
rub shoulders;
Glistening pearls hold sway,
While
Caesar’s laurels rest lightly
on that most burdened brow.
I reach out
and
dreamy Bacchus beckons again
and
yet again.
Unsteady, nostalgic
I crumble, I stumble
fearfully awake
to my crucifixion the
very next Day.
The City gained,
The Soul lost,
Hazy dreams and all
I have,
is yours to take, to
take away.
Yet leave for me the amber
Drink dear;
while I pass on and on
each Living Moment
astray.

Morbid Freedom

a poem by

Look, perceive within,
Who knocks at those very walls,
the resonating thudding waltz
in the space within,
Clumsy clamour to
break free, free from every
umbilical leaning and a
resigned dependence
of sorts.
The burden of belonging to One
who cares less,
lesser than before
today;
Will it never end.
Hoping futilely to bring back the
loneliness,
As usual
somewhere a tinkling bell
of old acquaintance
gratifies the mind
aligning chaos with the present,
Doomsday with Newtonian Physics.
Her presence, a dull throb
hurting between
the stooped shoulder blades,
Sudden flashes of guilt
Like a hemorrhaging knife
in the wintry morn!
I want to push it away, flee away
yet it grows on me, into me
Ever so stealthily,
I feel as a blind thief on
a darkened street;
who cannot perceive
the graffiti “Death”
upon the walls bleached-bare,
whitewashed, staining
with the blood
oozing, straining
falling free; his blood.
And I can’t identify him? Is it I
rolling over and over,
in the fetid stink,
missing a footing,
and losing
my balance, Soul,
Our World?
How I long for that “Yesterday”!
Wishing that you went away
and stood partially eclipsed,
the door between us,
a strange knock, yours,
which I won’t reckon to
this time.

I Feel

a poem by

Friendship, ah friendship!
woe is me, ah true friendship,
wily snake in the velvet glove
the curse of Adam;
Caeser’s Brutus!
A hollow world resonating
with many callers; terribly empty.
Friends abound,
loitering vagabonds,
aimless ambition;
Partakers in the intoxicating
drink of life,
Charmers in the halls of the mighty
Bacchus.
‘Tis
but the way of the world,
sure;
Friendship
ordained with the diadem
of composed harlotry,
a Judas in every midst
selling himself for a paltry sum;
sitting in the shade of the sweet Champaka
fragrant,
even as the setting sun
predicts the fall of each individual
Rome.

Worlds Apart

a poem by

Driving fast,
eyes riveted to the winding black
ahead;
The sole morning task
to be performed
till ten a.m.;
When I was suddenly
drawn to
a flock of unknown birds
(herons or mynahs, who knows?)
flying discreetly,
filling the blue expanse above
so very purposefully;
elsewhere.
Did they know I was there?
Did they even try to guess?
I don’t know;
Could we have been
the many daily
acquaintances, anonymous;
one gets so used to,
who meet as if never to meet again,
and yet do the same thing
over and over again?
Till we know them
from their gestures, overdone facials
cheap cologne and cigarette smoke!
Let me guess!
A lone kite crisscrossed them,
as if avoiding them,
the wholeness of it all
like mesmorised ripples
spreading slowly, so very slowly,
yet slipping away
from me.
Or was it rather,
like nanos suspended
so quiet, peacefully in known dimensions
of hourly existence,
borders of
AIDS, abortions, pollution, the ozone layer
and caste-wars;
more well-known
to me and my world?
The brief fling with
tranquility
shattered me, subdued me.
The only respite coming
from the certainty
that surely their’s is a different,
a rather make-believe world
of simplicity and joy.
I cast a doleful eye around
and a huge sigh of relief
as do the sane!

I ponder

a poem by

The warmth
of the fellowship of Man
so hoary, hazy, distant.
Like the wind swept dawn
fragile, so very brittle.
The rising desert smiting
the incoming light,
head-on!
A faceless eclipse
reborn;
Timelessness,
An undulating chasm dark.
I stand watching, mute, unknown,
the fallacy of it all
the continual blunder repeated
the dependence of man
on man,
a strident cacophony
crying out it’s misery.
Misinterpreted Symbiosis,
from birth to the very end
a crutch to lean upon.
Who am I? States the self
crumbling under the persistent yoke
of relativity,
The turmoil of a never ending quest
unanswered.
A despotic glance
A helpless glare.
I watch the night shadows
fade by gently,
flitting away;
leaving unattended to
my dilemma
of
choked passion.
Moments fall by
and I can only look back
empty-handed.