Random Ramblings

Time is a door I've knocked at both sides waiting for an answer---- I've waited too long the future and past are mere reflections of boundaries that sh\ft life is nothing but a lesson in patience.

              She needs him                like the flute needs air               the right amount                 to flow between               lips pressed                in anticipation of music.               In that music               she will find her childhood               lost virginity               to a man she can’t stand               words of a song               she used to sing               to a lover               she doesn't love a...

It’s the corner for life’s un-shapable spaces when another layer flows and leaves its traces. It’s the amalgam that forms when surrender meets rebellion white turns into red, red into vermillion. A burial ground for frustrations and defeat A whorehouse, where rehab escapees retreat And for the poisoned, tainted as they go It is the river Ganges , where blue bodies flow. For those with open and suspended hearts, it’s the miracle garden where regeneration starts. Love’s first glance in a purple oasis, desire’s first stop an empty week’s catharsis. ~Proma

Slow rainy evening caramelized by your scents senses overpowered, by sugar rushes. Outside, clouds soak in unoffered feelings... Songs, sing colors, flow invisible beings, come to life. I cannot call this an illusion anymore ~

The unbridled fount of passion, (someone called it deep) dried out too soon. Love, like a gypsy’s guise enchants before disappearing. Yet, real men should dream again and real women love unconditionally There is no place for cowards in that ocean of happiness: a dreamland numb to the ruins of time. ~Proma

I couldn’t say the few words I wanted to say- they lay covered under an endless night. Now, I will spend twice as long to speak of half their original worth.

I want your eyes to warm up to my tender glance and lips to return the favor of a chance. I want your hands to feel the hardworking hands of mine vein by vein pulse by pulse beat by beat. When my body energy learns to swim to the flow of yours. When my fears disappear  to your loving touch-  When my world moves at your pace my bends fit into yours Simplifying - a complicated maze. When my every pause is met with another begin, no journey ever ends in that perfect place. -Proma Ray

The secrets of my heart are like water drops on a dark Japanese fan. Much as I want they won’t hide in the folds of time or fly, for the fear of failure. But sometimes, in the event of my forgetfulness, the wind will strum the fan and the drops will dance- unmindful of the fall. And in those musical moments, I will compose my song. ~Proma 

She sang her song of the evening*, But then he gave a sigh. Her song, split into two. One- the flight of a Siberian bird, Unknown and endless. The other- Falls on smelly moist ground, Dead, before it could fly.

Like a rose without water I will age deep vermillion and scentless. Your love I will keep like white envelopes from the past unopened under my sandal-scented bed. It is not memories that the mention of your name reminds. But a whole universe that I sometimes see when I sit and watch snow melt outside my window. Two drops of jasmine oil and two words later I remind myself this is only a poem and you distant, like a faraway place I want to visit. And say goodbye once again.

From the color of dark white walls The tones of my imagination fade. Grand glory of historic bricks, with sharp lines. Smooth as varnish,shiny these even colored marvels. One by one they stand tall bricks of a grand white wall. As indistinguishable, even colored marvels. But today at the break of the day The glassy army will enter the field. One by one the bricks will cringe Fine lines will appear, from the focus to the fringe. The mirage of merriness Squares copulating for a life shall end. Lines will mend Pre-written history with a bend. A few of them will crumble Few others, remain. Pinks and reds will gape out of the cracks Blues and blacks, un-tame. I watch, Lost in the clinking of marbles I suspend. Bricks laugh in front of me, little by little Some happy, some pretend. In the shallow of their earthen hearts How much can they swim? A metal pendant rusts A dry rose dreams.

Fall turned the color green into orange, red leaves spread loud and brazen; like the cry before deprived sleep like the burst before blindness. The chill of morning air bites, and silences the passion. Two birds that visit my window-view tree all year long like stars, Their little feet dancing in the spring of the branches. The cold seethed in the warmth of the leaves. The birds kept dancing. And my little one keeps smiling with a glint in his eyes. **** Note from the Author **** This poem is actually a symbolic representation of the changing times around Nov 2008 - The falling economy and Obama being elected. The color green in the first para : Green as is money, prosperity, green as in greed. The Fall - literal meaning is seasonal the month of Oct, Nov. Symbolic meaning -Fall of the government, economic downfall. Color Orange, Red - as in revolution, danger, trying times. The second para is about the things that are not going to change whatever happens to the environment around the...

They greet like dried leaves rustling through the windows of an abandoned mansion where paintings of forgotten faces adorn walls of incomplete erosion. Two sets of eyes lock, and lips curl lovingly by chance The flitting smiles pause in respect for the passing glance. But just as dried leaves wouldn’t turn green no matter how much it pours, The wrinkles of old souls do not smoothen from love tales of yore.

S he lay in the dark Her moon face – cold The vast sky spreads like a dome In death she is again alone She died burning Sari draped the cooking fire they say Her charred face now silent Under embroidered stars Thousands of miles away Hundreds of cries later A woman screams Fire ! Fire !

The gold bangles that you mother had put gently in my hands the week before your destiny took me away from you and brought me closer to my fate here, now await patiently in the old embroidered jewelry box. For the first year or two, about two times a year I opened that box eager and excited. Yes, the gold still retained the shine, the exuberance. I wore them delighted, glamorized and comforted. Now years have passed and I not even have time To ponder upon the time that went between, or the bridges of thought that separate us. The giddy gold I’ve traded for the purple and red earthy beads that guys tell me make me exotic. I wear the wear and tear, of cheap affordable life. (The bright shines blind me now) Don’t tell me now I’ve spread myself thin It’s an art you earn after you’ve lost everything. By giving up the living, I’ve learned to love. By giving up the pining I’ve learned to pain. The gold, like heart does not shine forever, for all. ~Proma (Feeling a little homesick this Diwali)

If hope be man's final destiny then every tear his eyes have shed, tells a tale of silent victory greater than hope itself. Is it his spirit? A madness perhaps that his shattered self, his broken heart, Recoils, rewinds and recollects and colors itself as Art ? ~Proma

It happens all of a sudden: The breaking of the dreams you called your own The demise of the world you thought was yours The curdling of, your ignorant heart. You cannot lie, it happens: You revisit tragedies. For you are aware that re-visits trivialize hard truths, the depth as well as the high. One sad evening you sat by that window, I know you did: And let anger burn you inside-out, and splinters split through you, as you sat by, the window to your soul. I saw your eyes speak to me: Your lifetime of holding sane, the pipeline of bottled pain, cycles running over and end, Only to begin, yet again. The only way out, the only respite: Avenge your sorrows not drown in your plight. At the confluence of bursting fire and simmering tears, the burning revenge ends on the pyre of fear. By merging defeat into an acceptance speech of life, You’ve become a woman, not just a man’s wife. ~Proma

One dew drenched evening, still we sat our eyes floating under the ocean of stars. The breeze drifted into a delirium and that one night had you open your heart. But the morning came and took you back to where you smile between your fears. My open arms you withdrew from and knowingly I had shed no tear. Since that day you're afraid to sleep Your bloodshot eyes tell no lie A bowl of sun and a drop of pain is all you'll dream when you close your eyes. ~Proma

Clinging to strange lands set my native fears free burying the known I’ve let the unknowns ravage me The only truth I’ve hit Were souls others had tried Someone’s pains slit Inter-twined with mine There’s nothing to despair My contemplation drafts – There’s nothing to repair It’s broken from the start I’m tired of the swinging And death-ness and the stings There’s no meaning in -no-thing- Until your loveliness sings - Proma

Art as Flirtation and Surrender In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art. - R U M I